


The Most Unlikely of Events

by gatekat, Verilidaine



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canonical Character Death, Crossover Pairings, Forced Prostitution, M/M, Mech Preg, Non-Sticky Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Public Sex, Rape Recovery, Spark Bond, Spark Sex, Sparklings, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-28 14:29:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 99,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gatekat/pseuds/gatekat, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verilidaine/pseuds/Verilidaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The universe likes balance.  Sometimes that means taking from one timeline and placing that into another.  It doesn't ask, not that Jazz would have objected at another shot at having Prowl again even if he'd known what it would take beforehand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prowl's Stand

**Author's Note:**

> This one is AUed both for the crossover aspect and for blatant author denial of inconvenient 'minor' character deaths, canon and whatever else. This is not one of those stories that made any effort to stay true to any canon.

He stood on the roof of the central tower in the city of Narali, the New Hope of a New Cybertron, and studied the brightly lit sprawl to where it blackened to the unclaimed barren rock native to this world. Through hard work and necessity, the survivors of the Great War were slowly transforming this isolated rock orbiting binary suns into a mechanical world. For those few who remembered Cybertron before the war and knew what a city really was, it was more of a village. It was small enough for him to patrol the boarders and major streets every night, though they had outgrown Metroplex itself. They had an entire world and only 1679 mecha to inhabit it. He knew each and every one by designation, face, frame, voice and function. Most, if not all knew him from direct interaction.

Like running the army, most did not like him. He was the law and he made no effort to be likable.

Prowl, former Second in Command to Optimus Prime, Chief Tactician of the Autobot Army, was now Chief of Planetary Defense and Chief Planetary Planner. He hoped that he could hand over the duties of Chief Planetary Planner to another soon, but as of yet none of his subordinates showed the natural talent and strength required for the upgrades.

He honestly didn't mind most days. It kept him busy. Even a full three hundred vorns after the deactivation of his love, the mech he had promised his spark to, promised to bond with when the war ended, time hadn't soothed the pain in his spark much. He stilled ached from Jazz's absence. It had been tolerable during the war, between Prowl's pragmatic nature and the promise that Jazz would come back. Jazz always promised, even though they both knew the promise was hollow. Jazz could no more promise he'd survive the next orn than Prowl could.

The end of the war came with the news than Jazz had deactivated in one of the last great battles. The entire Decepticon command structure, all of its leaders were deactivated as well. The Matrix of Leadership had been recovered, the Allspark lost. It was three vorns over with by the time Prowl had arrived on Earth. By then nearly a hundred mecha had gathered, including the metrotitan Metroplex, and the consensus was already that they needed to find a world they could convert to a new Cybertron.

The search and preparation had consumed much of the next two vorns. They recovered and rebuilt the Ark, expanding and upgrading it, and bid their human allies farewell. A few mecha remained on Earth and the human colonies as a link from the new world to their former one, a way to remain in contact and continue to guide humanity as it reached into the stars.

Prowl allowed a gust of air to be expelled from his vents. He had a function. He believed he was needed. His Prime wanted him. It was enough. He found ways to keep himself from sinking too deeply into the depression that threatened to consume him every moment he was aware and the joy that came with recharge, where he remembered better times with his lover and lost the fact that Jazz was gone.


	2. Jazz's Nightmare

I lost everything I cared about that orn. My love in the shuttle crash. My Prime fell to Megatron. By the time the chaos was over I'd lost my rank and place when the new Prime installed those he trusted as the command officers and those entrusted to rebuild Cybertron. Truth be told, I can't blame him. In the moments I'm not hurting so much, I know I'd worry if he hadn't sent me away. I was in no shape to do much of anything good.

All I have left are my skills at sabotage and a vicious love of fighting. It dulls the pain, smoothes my processor's ragged thoughts and generally lets me believe for a few moments that there's still a purpose to my spark staying in this frame. I don't want there to be, but the war's taken the ability to give up from me. So I fight. I take missions that they don't even give to Wreckers. I pick fights with mecha that should be able to obliterate me. I do everything my coding will let me to end the grief that's consuming me until I can barely remember what it was I'm fighting for.

And I survive every damn thing.

All of it.

Believe me. I've tried to end it. Every I time boot up and most times before I cycle down I try to extinguish my spark, by code or blade or blaster. Once by stepping into space. Several times by aiming a shuttle at a star or rocky planet. I can't do it. Neither can I purposefully wipe my memory clean and start as a new mech. I tried that too. All my kill codes are predicated on there being a threat of being broken, of being hacked. Without that threat, I can't go near them. I'm programmed at the very core to survive.

So I survive.

Every vorn chips that much more of me away to the oblivion that my past is becoming. I can't remember much beyond my current target and the last few joors of Prowl's existence now. Maybe in a few more vorns the pain will end and I'll become a mech again.

Every orn, I wish the same thing. Every orn I deal with whatever is thrown my way, and I survive. 

So when I powered up and looked up into a sky that wasn't my own, all I could think was, _What now?_

* * *

I can't remember much, but I also know that I don't want to. Being shunted through the universe in recharge and still not dying seems like Primus's cruel practical joke on my life. The stars are strange. Prowl is still dead. I'm still alive. Very little else matters beyond the relief that knowing every moment I live is one less moment before my death. I hurt all over, my armor feels raw and scraped, my very protoform is sore. 

I power my optics down again. The need to _do_ , to _learn_ , will become overwhelming eventually, but right now, I can still fight against it. 

After a while, I realize that I can pick up radio signals of some kind. Strange clicks and whistles that sound as foreign as the sky looks. Scattered here and there are sounds I recognize, and my sluggish, unwilling processor places them as English. 

Earth. 

Prowl. 

I stop listening. I try not to care. To pass the time, I see if I can hack my self-destruct sequences, but they evade me like they always do. Life it is. 

The sounds nearby and the touch on my shoulder aren't nearly as alarming as they should be. When I power my vision back on, I find myself looking at a metal creature. It's clicking and whistling at me in that strange language. It's another biomechanoid, but not like any I've ever seen. Big too, bigger than Prime was.

In the end, I go with it. 

I thought it was taking me away to be killed. I hoped it was. 

In the end, what it actually did was so much worse. 

* * *

It's common knowledge that when two sparks touch, they form a permanent bond between them. We'd promised that to each other, Prowl and I. We promised that at the end of the war, no matter who won and who lost, we would unite. 

I wish we had. I could have died with him, and never found myself here. 

I knew that the creatures around me were interfacing. I knew what that looked like, how a mecha's frame arched when pleasure took it, crackling beneath the armor. I was pushed forward, expected to perform, but no one ever tried to touch my panels. It didn't take long to realize that the other whores were using a set of wires and external touches to pleasure each other. Not long after that, the owner of the establishment figured out that whatever they were using was incompatible with my systems. The data they tried to send over to me glitched and left the customers angry and unsatisfied. 

But I could still touch. That seemed the same, at least, though they seemed to get more from it than I ever had. Strokes and pressure in the right places on a frame were easy ways to pleasure another, and I was quickly shoved to the bottom, the cheapest, easiest, most useless whore who really only served to amp a customer up while another used the wires. 

The orn my life changed forever--again--a customer was asking about me. The owner shrugged and gestured me over, and I was pulled into the back. I would have fought so hard, if I'd known, but I wasn't ready to be pinned down by the larger frame. When I saw the light in the other's chest, _sparklight_ , and my own was pried open, that spark pushed to mine, I screamed and fought. 

_This spark is meant for Prowl!_

No one understood, no one cared, and my spark was given away to a stranger as he grunted and heaved above me. I stopped fighting halfway through when I realized that this would be a way to die. I could kill my rapist and let the break destroy me. I would not live bonded to him. 

I would not live at all.


	3. Bolt from the Blue

Prowl enjoyed his patrols. They were routine and took much of his attention, forcing it into his surroundings with the same diligence he had applied to everything in his life, from filing a report to loving Jazz. Most nights, that diligence resulted in nothing, or false alarms, but some nights he stopped a theft or vandalizing. 

This night, he was halfway through his rounds, coming up over the edge of the developed city and looking out into some of the areas still under construction. Something small and white was streaking through, and as he magnified the visual feed, he saw an old Earth-style alt mode. Very old by that world's standards, from before even Optimus Prime had arrived on the planet. The species that had designed it had long since genetically engineered itself out of its original genus and predominately out of organic status by the time an individual was two vorns old. A silver Cybertronian design was following closely behind. 

He had no records of the first vehicle, which meant it was an unregistered visitor, something strictly forbidden, and to his knowledge, nearly impossible. Interplanetary travel was strictly monitored and controlled. The one he did recognize didn't have a clean record. All of it was more than enough for an active pursuit, and he plotted a course to intercept. 

His sirens came on right before he hit the street as he drove out and transformed into root mood directly in front of the white car. Its brakes came on and it skidded, then transformed into a mech-like creature the size of a minibot and flipped to a stop that Prowl knew was far harder to pull off than the mech--was it a mech?--had made it seem. But at the end, the creature crumpled in front of him. It was covered in processed energon.

"That--that _thing_ killed one of my clients!" the second mech roared as he pulled up, pointing accusingly at the mech, who shouted something back at him in a language Prowl was unfamiliar with, but the violent intent was clear in the tension, tone and way the mech had gotten halfway up into a combat crouch.

"Who did it deactivate, Riptide?" Prowl asked calmly as he made a quick move to disable the stranger with a pair of stasis cuffs.

Riptide began to answer, but the energon-covered mech startled the moment the cuffs locked around him. He tried to twist away, bolting so hard that his pedes slipped and went out from under him. He twisted and looked back, staring up at Prowl with bright optics and a field that was hovering just this side of panic. The optics were bright with a glass visor, but the same focusing equipment lay beneath. He rattled off something else, and he looked like he was pleading with Prowl as he spoke. "Had me," he said suddenly, and the accent in the subharmonics was forced and unusual, but he said it again. "Had me, I wanted no!"

"It killed Kartla," Riptide growled.

Prowl scanned the white form in his custody and noted there were traces of black about its frame. It was painted, rather than nanite colored, boxy, inelegant and primitive looking, yet Prowl's spark was humming happily. His spark's reaction would have to wait. Law, medical and questioning all came first. "How did it come close to a _client?_ " Prowl offered harmonics of warning that he _knew_ Riptide was involved in something illegal and was only debating how hard he was going to pursue it. Out of view, he used a thumb to gently rub the prisoner's wrist. He had no idea if it would calm this mech, but it often worked. On Jazz it could even work when he was raving mad and couldn't even recognize his own agents.

The panic was slowly subsiding. 

"It broke in and tried to rob the register," Riptide said, after a too-long pause. 

The frame in the cuffs stiffened and his engines revved angrily. "Don't worry about it, it's unregistered," he said, staring determinedly at Riptide as he spoke a perfect mimic of the club owner. 

"What--it--it's--I would never--" Riptide said, but the small mech repeated the sentence again.

Prowl's optics and field hardened as he pinged the systems and confirmed that Riptide had not called in the deactivation. "I know where to find you when medical and processing sorts out on our visitor. We _will_ be discussing this again."

" _What?_ " Riptide protested. "It doesn't even speak Cybertronian! It's never spoken before! You can't believe what it says!" 

The mech glared coldly at him, and then offered a very short, succinct, and _very_ vulgar insult.

Prowl almost managed to suppress a smirk. "It seems it had learned a few glyphs while around you. I've alerted the Enforcers. They will take your statement when you return to your establishment."

Riptide unhappily accepted that and nodded. "Just see that you deal with _that_ ," he said, pointing at the mech, and stalking off. 

Prowl huffed and commed ahead to ask both Ratchet and Blaster to be at the secure wing of the hospital when he arrived, including a databurst of what little he knew. Then he regarded the being that was now in his custody. A being that had killed a resident of his city, even if it was a resident that Prowl would most definitely not miss. The former Decepticon grunt was often at the center of brawls and serious injury cases.

"Come," he said evenly. Even if this being did not understand the glyph, he hoped that it would understand the light pressure on one arm to move with Prowl. With Riptide gone, Prowl worked to keep his field calm and steady. There was no telling what this being could pick up, but it was a mecha of some kind, even if it wasn't Cybertronian, and most mechanoids could teek the fields of others.

It resisted, and shook its head, and the panic was starting to flare back up. "Why..." it said, and struggled to find the right glyphs, before it gave up and began walking, huddled in on itself, its arms held protectively over its chest.

"You are a visitor. You must be registered." Prowl glanced at the small, blocky mech. "Do you understand me?"

To his shock, it immediately flinched away from him as soon as he spoke, ducking his head and trying to protect itself with its shoulder, like it was expecting to be hit. 

After a few moments, when no blow came despite that Prowl had stopped walking, it hesitantly looked up.

"Do you understand Cybertronian?" Prowl tried a different way to ask.

It stared at him, optics focusing and refocusing, and then spoke in a completely unexpected language. "I heard English in the radio waves." 

"I understand English," Prowl switched over to the _ancient_ dialect of the language. A dialect that had already been obsolete when he'd arrived on Earth. Still, he knew it from of all the news and reports from the time that he'd reviewed. "My designation in English is Prowl. What should I call you?"

The mech gave a shocked, startled twitch, and Prowl could clearly teek _unhappiness_ coming off of him, and confusion. "Jazz. Where am I?"

"The best translation I can generate is the City of Narali, built around the metrotitan Metroplex, on the world of New Cybertron. Second rocky planet around a binary star system designated Guardel," Prowl told him. "Where did you learn this dialect of the human language? It is extremely archaic."

"It's the most up to date my intel has provided," the little mech said, field bristling like he'd been insulted. "But ... I can't remember much. I don't know how I got here. I was..."

Recharging. Out in the open, where anyone could find him, hoping a 'Con would stumble upon his frame and deactivate him before he could boot.

He shivered. Something about the giant had comforted him, attracted him, made him feel safe. That he shared the same designation as his lost love was ... disturbing. "What will you do with me?" 

"Since you are a visitor, you need to be processed and registered. Since you deactivated a resident, you will be held in custody until the investigation is complete," Prowl regarded him calmly. Then glanced up as the transport finally arrived. "I would like you to tell me what happened since your arrival as best you can given the imprecise nature of this language."

A long moment of silence. "Will you kill me?" the mech asked quietly. 

And somehow, Prowl could tell it wasn't a question, but a request, hidden deep beneath the superficial meaning. Just that was quite enough to focus Prowl's attention and make him wonder why his spark spasmed painfully at the thought. It was not as if he was a stranger to executions. He'd performed them himself in the field. But the idea of sending this mech to the smelter _hurt_ in a way that made no sense.

"I would rather not," Prowl edged around the question while still being honest. He guided the mech to step inside the Enforcer transport. "Medical detention," he ordered the transport driver evenly in Cybertronian once he had Jazz sitting and secured to a bench. "You have deactivated a citizen. It can carry a death sentence. Why do you wish to die?"

Jazz huddled up against the wall, his optics dimming. "Reasons." 

"Did you kill a mecha today?" Prowl asked, allowing the answer to stand for now.

"I killed a rapist today," the small mech snarled. 

Prowl nodded, angry and not at all surprised but concealing both as best he could as he sat across from Jazz on the moving transport. "Was he the first to force you to interface in this city?"

"Is that what you call it?" Jazz said. "Interfacing? How sterile. They tried to, with wires, it didn't work. Didn't see any of them fucking the way we do. But you have sparks ... that was what he..." Jazz waved a hand. "Maybe my spark is damaged, it didn't make a..." He searched for a word. "Bond. Like it's supposed to."

Prowl stilled, genuinely horrified by the idea that a rape, much less spark-rape, had occurred in his city. He believed this being. "Our kind do not automatically bond with spark contact," he said instead. "It requires intent, and generally compliance, if not desire on all sides. As ... bad ... as spark-rape is, it is unlikely he was attempting to bond with you."

The mech looked at him, visor light steady and inscrutable. "Pity," he finally said. "Would have been a good way to go."

Prowl added that the subject was definitely suicidal and willing to kill to extinguish--though apparently not aggressive if not assaulted--to an update to Ratchet and Blaster. "Please tell me what happened since your arrival as best you can, including if you would recognize any mecha you encountered if you saw their image."

Jazz muttered something that sounded like a curse in the language he'd been yelling earlier. "Booted up here, hurting all over, no fucking clue how I got here or where I am. The--" Another curse that Prowl didn't understand, "--found me and tried to talk to me. Hauled me off with him, was hoping he'd finish me off but he just started shoving me at mechs. They kept trying to plug these cords into me and the data kept corrupting. Figured out I could still rub 'em until they came, at least that's similar but you all are _way_ sensitive. Yeah I'd recognize them. Wasn't the head of Special Operations for _nothing_." He looked started as soon as said it. "I'm ... I remember that. Fuck." He gripped at his helm. "Where the fuck _am_ I? ...Wait, you said Cybertron. That's--" Another displeased twitch. "That's _mine_. Why are you calling it New Cybertron?"

"Because the world I was created on, Cybertron, is no more. It was destroyed three hundred vorns ago at the end of the Great War. The mecha here are the survivors, Autobot, Decepticon and neutral," Prowl explained more than he should, he knew, but he felt sorry for this being. He knew now why the mech was dangerous at least. Any head of Special Operations, no matter for whom, would be incredibly skilled. It should put him on edge, warn him to speak less, not more, but his spark refused to let it. "You are from Cybertron?"

"Yes," Jazz said slowly, lifting his head. "That was the planet's name. That's where I was before I was here. The Great War hasn't--it's still going. What's the year? Earth year."

"26,913," Prowl said as they came to a stop and he stood. Unsecuring Jazz from the bench, he urged the mech to rise, but he seemed too stunned to react.

"It's a curse," he finally said, voice dull. "That's all it could be. I _can't_ die and as soon as I'm close I get pulled into a peaceful future. Your name," he lifted his head. "You're named after Optimus Prime's SIC." 

Prowl paused, his tac-net now informing him that if this mech was not acting or delusional, there was a 93.2% probability he was dealing with the results of a dimensional breach. 

"I was Optimus Prime's SIC. Now I am the Chief of Planetary Defense and Chief Planetary Planner, and Optimus is still our Prime," Prowl said cautiously. "I was created nine thousand and sixteen vorns before the official declaration of war between Optimus Prime and the then Lord High Protector Megatron. Come, Jazz," he focused on creating soothing harmonics in field and voice. "Our CMO is ready to look at you."

"So this isn't..." Jazz said, as he stood and walked automatically. "Can't be the same future. Optimus Prime died. The Matrix went to Rodimus Prime. Prowl--" Static cracked painfully through his voice. "Prowl died in the shuttle." He stopped suddenly, shaking. "Please, _please_ , if you won't kill me, tell your CMO to edit my coding so I can do it myself. I can barely stand living, I _can't_ live in a world where you don't remember me!" 

"You may ask him about it," Prowl offered all he could. "I do know your pain. I lost my mate in one of the last battles," he sang his Jazz's full, proper designation. "There can be life afterwards."

"There isn't life," Jazz spat, with a rageful surge of _hatred-jealousy-loathing_ going through his field at the designation. "There are memories and the next mission."

Prowl's optics dimmed slightly, painfully familiar with that focus from his own existence and many lives he'd seen it destroy. "We will find out what Ratchet, the law and I can do to help you. If we can work out how your processors function, a full wipe is a legal option. You may ask him to edit your code so you may extinguish, though that is more complicated. Come," he tried to coax the strange mech whose spark he couldn't bear thinking about extinguishing, or the report his tac-net had produced and the AI refused to show him.

Jazz followed numbly, one pede in front of the other, moving in a way that looked more like drone than mech, walking automatically until they reached the medbay. He looked in and stared up at the medic. 

"Odd little thing," Ratchet said in Cybertronian, peering back down. "How dangerous?"

"He claims to be the former Head of Special Operations and no one is contesting that he violently deactivated Kartla less than two joors ago," Prowl replied in Cybertronian, then switched languages. "He understands First-Contact English quite well."

Ratchet scowled. "Special Operations of _what?_ " he asked Prowl in their language, then looked at the mech that was the size of a small minibot but looked nothing like anything he'd ever seen before. "Where the Pit'd ya learn that?" he growled. 

"Assuming he is not lying or delusional, another dimension's version of the Autobots is most likely," Prowl responded in Cybertronian, databursting the full contents of his conversation to Ratchet.

"On Earth," Jazz said defensively. "Where'd _you_ learn it?" 

A grunt. "Fair enough. Hop up, let's see if you have anything resembling systems in there. What's yer name?" 

Jazz answered first in his language, and then in the only common ground they had, "Jazz." 

It was hard to decide if Ratchet tried to stop his startled look at Prowl, but if he had, it was impossible to tell. "Er, right," he said, his voice oddly pitched.

That was enough to draw Prowl's attention to the medic. "Is something wrong, Ratchet?" he asked in Cybertronian.

"No," Ratchet answered in the same language, but he was still staring. "Ya jus' seem ... calm, for all'a that." 

"Your Wheeljack alive too?" Jazz asked, drawing their attention.

Prowl looked at Ratchet, who had to think about it for a moment before his optics brightened in recognition. "A mech tha' briefly went by that in English is still functional, yea'."

While Ratchet spoke, Prowl ran a forced search for the designations, and nearly crumpled when the results came back. His optics flickered and field flared wildly before getting back under control.

Ratchet had stopped everything he was doing and was watching him closely. "You really _didn't_ remember that?" he asked, as Jazz watched him without any expression at all.

"Not consciously. It was not relevant information by the time I arrived on Earth," Prowl murmured in English, staring at the strange minibot with a very different perspective. "He said his deactivated mate went by Prowl in English as well."

Armor ruffled in agitation. "I never said he was my mate," Jazz said stiffly. "He was, and he did, but I never said it." 

"It was clear from your reactions," Prowl said quietly.

"Primus bless," Ratchet muttered, looking at the newcomer. "Before we get ahead of ourselves, we need to confirm this isn't some 'Con trick and see if he's safe for general exposure. It might make things easier if ya go, Prowl." 

"No," Jazz said suddenly. "No, I ... stay?"

"I do not intend to leave. He is a prisoner under investigation for murder at the moment," Prowl gave a line that while true, fooled no one. He wasn't leaving because he didn't _want_ to leave.

Jazz nodded and settled marginally after that, letting Ratchet perform the frame inspection as he waited and watched. When almost a joor had passed, he onlined his optics again. "Can you edit my self-destruct coding?" he asked.

"Depends on how it's written and if the corruption issues you noticed during interfacing are linked to those systems or are the result of system incompatibility," Ratchet answered. "If ya are a dimensional traveler, it's possible there is nothing wrong with your systems. You're simply wired in a way that doesn't mesh with us well."

"If he isn't one Pit of an impressive experiment by one very scrambled processor, he's not based on any electrical system from this universe," a deep rumble of Cybertronian came from near the doorway. "I'm not getting anything more than a basic buzz of electric activity."

"Scrap, so we have no way to tell if he's lying," Ratchet said as he peered at the access ports in Jazz's neck, trying to figure out if he had anything compatible. He was on his seventh cable with no results, nothing seemed to transmit the data coming from those processors. 

"Though on the other hand, it does lend credibility to his story," Prowl said evenly and in English. 

Ratchet snickered. "Impartial much?"

Jazz focused on the new mech. "What's your name." 

"Blaster," he answered smoothly. "I hear you go by Jazz." 

"You were trying to read me, and you couldn't," Jazz surmised.

The host, now by far the most powerful telepath still functional, simply nodded.

"You must admit the implications of your presence are extensive. Eliminating as many possibilities as possible is in our best interests," Prowl said calmly.

Blaster cycled his optics as armor flickered in surprise. "You're _broadcasting_ mech," he said defensively when Prowl shot him a sharp look. "I know the rules. I _wrote_ the rules."

" _I_ can tell what you're thinking," Ratchet muttered in Cybertronian, then shook his head and stood up to face Jazz again. "Can't find anything to match you. I'm sorry, I don't know how to get at your code." 

Jazz both crumpled completely and didn't move at all in the same moment, just from the way his field and optics reacted. "If your Optimus Prime is anything like mine was, he believes in autonomy of self and the right to choose."

"Within reason," Prowl flicked his armored sensor panels. "Until the charges against you are settled and any penalty paid, you rights are going to be more limited than most. While Ratchet takes what measurements he needs to fabricate a plug that will access your systems, tell us what happened today."

This time he _did_ move, curling in on himself with his arms moving up over his chest. "Isn't much to tell," he muttered. "Bastard got my spark and I killed him. What more do you want?"

"I want to know if you can honestly testify that Kartla, the mech you killed, paid Riptide to use you," Prowl said stiffly.

Jazz lifted his head, looking at him silently for a long moment. Then recited with a near-perfect accent, "What's that thing, new? Been around a decacycle, found it wandering. Can't frag, knows how to touch real good though. Want it? How much to take it in back? Thousand credits. Are you fragging glitched? It's a bit of nothing! It's _exotic_. Give you one fifty. Three. Two or it's nothing, no way you get a better deal. Fine, two, take it and have fun and I want it back when you're done. Wait--I'm not gonna get the cop-bots on me am I? Don't worry about it, it's unregistered." As he finished speaking, he produced something in his hand and held it forward, a credit stick. "I assume you mean something like that," he said, switching back to English. 

"Yes," Prowl rumbled, angry, excited and regretting what Jazz had gone through all at once. "Yes, that is enough, along with the evidence being gathered, to charge Riptide with multiple..."

"Felonies," Blaster supplied the English term. "He won't be free for a _long_ time over this."

Prowl nodded, pleased. He didn't even register that he'd reached out to stroke a thumb along one of Jazz's stubby sensor horns, but it wasn't lost on the other mechs in the room. Neither was the way the small, strange looking mech's vents caught as he leaned into it, his frame reading something other than _misery_ for the first time.

"So where is he going to reside until he'd on his pedes?" Ratchet asked in Cybertronian while he regarded the scene warily, but also with a hope he didn't dare express least he scare Prowl off the first sign of recovery he'd displayed.

"With me," Prowl answered in English.

"Prowl..." Blaster said warily, and wondered how much this echo of their lost companion could understand of their language. "If there's a criminal case and you're accused of losing impartiality towards the defendant ... it could make the whole thing blow up in his face. Once the English designation gets out mecha will _talk_."

"I will not be handling the prosecution of either side," Prowl said instead in Cybertronian as his optics slowly shuttered at the sensations he could pick up from Jazz. "I cannot. I am already compromised."

"But the Chief of Planetary Defense inviting an admitted murderer still awaiting trial to stay with him?" Blaster asked, stressed by the far-reaching implications that others would read from it, already hearing the accusations and rumors that would be flung.

"Who is an unregistered alien, likely from another dimension," Prowl added to the list, though whether he was listing that as for or against was up for debate. "Who was abducted and held prisoner, repeatedly raped for profit until he believed he was being forced to spark bond to a stranger assaulting him. He will not be _safe_ in prison. Kartla and Riptide both have allies that can reach him there."

Ratchet huffed. "He makes a good point, kid," he said. 

Blaster just nodded. "Whatever you feel is best for the _planet_ ," he emphasized the last word. 

"Does Prime know he's here?" Ratchet asked.

"I did not contact him directly yet," Prowl admitted. "So only if he's listening to the official comm chatter."

"Probably let him get a teek to be on the safe side," Blaster suggested.

Prowl nodded his agreement and pinged Optimus Prime's private comm with a contact request, though he was careful to include that it was duty related.

::I'm free now,:: Optimus returned immediately. ::Is this regarding the unregistered alien?::

::Yes,:: Prowl affirmed, and was surprised when he looked down and saw the way Jazz was leaning into his hand, but mostly because he hadn't been aware of it drifting down to the smaller mech's neck in a rubbing massage. 

::I'll come to you. I need to talk to Ratchet anyway.::

::Blaster is here as well. The situation is far more complex than it was on last report,:: Prowl warned him before the channel was closed. "Prime wishes to speak with you as well," he told Ratchet in Cybertronian. "I expect he will wish your input as well, Blaster."

The host nodded his understanding before giving a pointed look at Prowl's hand. "Houston we read you loud and clear," he said with a grin.

Prowl glared at him and huffed, but didn't remove his hand. He felt _good_ to want to touch again, to feel something other than empty, aching and tired.

"Leave 'm 'lone," Jazz murmured in agreement, the small mech's field _alive_ with bliss. It felt like Prowl. _His_ Prowl. He wasn't sure if this version was being sympathetic or responding to what Jazz was making no effort to hide, but sinking into this, letting himself drift away and pretend like it had all been a dream, was worth it. 

The door opened, pedesteps, and when Jazz onlined his optics again his armor gave a startled twitch at the absolute _giant_ that walked in. If this Prowl was the size of Prime, this Prime was the size of Skyfire, maybe bigger. "Optimus." 

Optimus frowned slightly, looking at him, and stepped forward, then his own field gave a startled flare. "Jazz," he said, without thinking, _staring_.

Jazz stared back. He'd heard that sound before, the designation of this Prowl's lost mate. He looked at the mech. "What did he just say?" he demanded.

"My mate's designation," Prowl said quietly, his gaze locked on Prime. "Why?"

Optimus shook himself slightly, pulling himself out of his stare and looking at his once SIC. "I apologize, I did not mean to..." He took a slow step forward, and knelt down to get a better look at the unusual frame. "I can't tell you why, except that he _is_ ," he murmured in Cybertronian, then switched over to the English dialect he'd heard Jazz use. "You are in the wrong place." 

"Man, you ain't kiddin'," Jazz said, still staring at the _size_ of this Prime.

"He has lost his Prowl. I have lost my Jazz. Perhaps he is not in so wrong a place," Prowl said quietly in Cybertronian as he regarded the blocky minibot. "I believe it is good that I already recused myself in this case."

Optimus Prime nodded slowly. "I was told you murdered one of my citizens," he said. 

Jazz bristled, looking ready for a sharp, not well thought out retort.

Prowl's hand gave a small pressure to make him pause, and responded in English. "After being spark raped, an event he believed would bond him to his attacker. I do not believe it should go to trial. Riptide even described Kartla as a client at the time it happened."

Optimus nodded. "I trust your assessment," he said. "Though given your unique perspective, I believe it would be wise for a neutral judge to hear the evidence and testimony." 

"Of course Prime," Prowl inclined his helm.

Optimus focused back on Jazz. "I am sorry for what has happened to you here." 

"'S all good," Jazz said with a shrug. "If you're anything like my Prime I know you would have stopped it." 

"Yes, as would have any of my officers," Optimus x-vented deeply. "The war may be over, but the peace has not yet been set in cultural unity."

"Understatement of the age," Ratchet muttered in Cybertronian, then shifted to English after a glare from Prowl. "While I don't have the expertise to confirm he's a dimensional traveler, I can confirm that his ports do not match anything I have, and Blaster can't tell anything other than he's alive."

"Mech's a mystery, Prime," Blaster said with a shrug. 

Optimus smiled gently. "He is not a mystery. He is Jazz." He looked to Prowl. "I trust you will see to his registration." 

"Of course, Prime," Prowl inclined his helm again. "I would have him stay with me until he is ready to move on."

"Which you are hoping is never from that hand," Ratchet grumbled at him in Cybertronian.

Prowl ignored the dig. It was true after all.

Prime chuckled for a moment, then sobered. "Before we get ahead of ourselves, it may be possible to send you to your home," he told Jazz. "The longer we wait, the less likely that becomes." 

Jazz shook his head. "Nothing for me there." 

"Then welcome. Please let me know if you need anything." Optimus looked to his medic. "Do our comms work with his?" 

"No," Ratchet groused. "Sending errors." 

"Jazz," Optimus drew the visitor's attention away from Prowl's soft touch. "Do you wish to see if your hardware can be physically upgraded to be compatible? After you clean up and settle in, of course."

"Er," Jazz said. "One step at a time, man, one step at a time. Probably. If I'm gonna be here for a while yeah." 

"You have time," Ratchet shrugged. "It'll take at least one in-depth physical examination on a micro level to work out how and longer to build whatever's needed to translate the signals from your native context to ours. That is not an exam I'm going to do while you're covered in energon."

"Then I will show you to where you will be residing for now," Prowl stepped back and offered a hand to the small, boxy, black and white minibot.

"Give him a rinse-down in the post-surgery rack." Ratchet said in Cybertronian and pointed.

"That would be good," Prowl spoke pointedly in English. "We can get the worst of the energon and grime off you before going out in public again."

Jazz shrugged and nodded. Moments were still just moments, each one that went by a mercy. The contents, while more interesting now than they had been before, were still not important. That he was drawn to this Prowl only meant he wanted a delusion instead of reality. 

_Anything_ instead of reality. 

He took Prowl's hand and jumped down off the oversized berth, following him to what he guessed were washracks. 

"Your mate's English name," he said quietly as soon as they were separated from the others. "Say it." 

"Jazz," Prowl answered, his field giving a pain-filled flicker of grief before he reached to turn on the solvent shower. "The humans called him Jazz."

Jazz nodded, as a strange weight settled on him as that suspicion was confirmed. "You didn't act like you knew the name when I said it."

"I did not arrive on Earth until three vorns after his deactivation. The humans who knew him were long dead. The mecha who knew what the humans called him never used the variant around me. Most reports used his given designation. I put it from my processors long ago," Prowl explained. "I knew, but I was no longer aware of it until Ratchet prompted me."

Another nod, and Jazz grew silent under the solvent, washing away the energon. "I think a history book would be useful," he finally said, to break the growing tension. "Never heard of a Lord High whatsit or anything."

"I will have one translated to English for you. Lord High Protector. It is the title for the leader of the Cybertronian military before the war," Prowl explained, watching and stopping himself twice from just stepping in to help. "Wash your back?" he eventually offered.

"Please," Jazz murmured, shifting. "I can just feel the dirt wedged in there."

Prowl nodded and knelt to come even with Jazz's back and pulled a clothes from his subspace, offering one forward for Jazz to use, then began to clean the long, smooth hood of Jazz's alt mode with firm, long strokes. "How are your energy levels?"

"Average," Jazz said, and Primus was he really _arching_ into the hands? "Always kept a few cubes in subspace. No one searched me for them. Guess energon isn't a problem here."

"Or they didn't expect you to have a subspace," Prowl hummed, a high, trilling sound as he pressed a little more firmly. "We do produce enough energon for the few mecha who live here."

"Maybe," Jazz managed, and couldn't seem to bring himself to care what they'd thought at all. Powering his visor down and pretending it was Prowl behind him was much better. "Your mate, Jazz," he copied the way Prowl had said it and felt the mech behind him shiver, "Head of SpecOps?"

"Yes. He was a brilliant communications specialist, first contact expert and resource gatherer. As long as you were willing to not ask about the details, he was well know to be able to procure anything you needed. He loved to experience new things. We made an unlikely pair, but it worked," Prowl's voice humming with longing and loss.

Jazz nodded slowly. "I'm sorry," he murmured, and rested his forehelm against the wall, growing still as he enjoyed the contact. "He sounds..." _Like me._ "...Like a good commander."

"He was. A good commander, a good Autobot, a good _mech_." Prowl mourned the loss he'd never gotten over, though his hands never stopped the long, smooth strokes to clean the mech in front of him. "He could always find the humor or good in a situation if it was needed. And he was beautiful, with such talented claws," he murmured as his hands moved down to Jazz's hips.

Jazz armor gave a light flicker of-- _something_ , he wasn't sure, and the minibot just nodded again, tension draining from his frame as the cleaning went on. This Prowl's touch was strong enough to feel good, undemanding of anything but stillness and Jazz could feel how each touch cleared away debris and dried energon. Long, sharp, clawed fingers dug into gaps to get grit out and channel solvent under armor.

The first strong stroke of the washcloth over his valve cover snapped Jazz out of his comfortable zone.

"Whoa, hey, hands!" he protested, jumping forward and spinning, backing quickly away from the large mech even as Prowl's armor flared in surprise and he stood, backing up sharply with both arms spread and hands open, palms towards Jazz.

"Look, man, I get it an' all an' don't think I'm not wonderin' over here but let's go with one small step at a time instead of giant leap for mankind, y'dig me?" Jazz desperately hoped Prowl would accept it.

After a long, quiet moment where Prowl simply stared, his armor gave a ruffle, shaking itself back into place. "Perhaps if you slowed down and used fewer colloquialisms?"

"Uh," Jazz said. "I'd like to get to know you but not in the Biblical sense?" Nothing. "I'm not lookin' t' bump uglies here?" Prowl looked possibly the slightest bit irritated, and Jazz huffed. "Okay, fine, straight up. I'm not ready to fuck, all right? So just don't even go there."

Black, white and red armor flared again and golden optics brightened considerably. "That was not my intent to suggest," Prowl's deep voice sounded somewhat strangled. "So between your legs is an erogenous zone. Where else should I avoid?"

Comprehension hit Jazz a moment later and he cursed himself internally. He'd seen these mecha doing--whatever it was they did--he'd already guessed they had different systems. 

But _those_ hands right _there_ had flustered him beyond belief. "Here," he said, to answer Prowl's question, circling the front of his pelvis, around his spike cover. "And yeah, between my legs is a _big_ no."

"My apologies," Prowl said quietly as his armor settled once more. "I have cleaned what is difficult to reach, if you would prefer I not touch you for a while."

"Yeah, just, gimmie a minute to finish up," Jazz said, slipping back under the solvent and washing what little remained as quickly as he could. Prowl turned the washrack off once he stepped back and he looked up at the oversized Praxian. "Registration now?" he said, carefully sounding the glyph out in Cybertronian.

"Yes," Prowl gave a reflexive trill of approval before showing Jazz to the air drier cubical and the noise silenced them both for a time.

Registration was simple enough, though Jazz got the impression that Prowl's presence was the reason for that, especially once they realized that their scanners weren't properly recording his spark frequency. 

In the end, they took his exact measurements, performed a 3D full-frame scan for their files, and recorded his spark frequency manually before sending him on his way. 

"Where am I legally, now?" Jazz asked as he followed Prowl out.

"You are currently a pending resident alien with movement restrictions due to the criminal investigations in progress," Prowl spelled it out as best the English language could manage. "You are currently in my protective custody."

Jazz just nodded. That was acceptable. Very little _wasn't_ acceptable, really, but at least this mech was nice. And felt like home and safety. "Your quarters now?" he asked in Cybertronian.

"Yes," Prowl responded, first in Cybertronian, then in English, as they stepped into the traffic heavy walkways of Metroplex. Silence fell between them, and Jazz wasn't sure whether all the looks they received were because of his very different looking frame, or that Prowl had someone with him not in cuffs.

As soon as he stepped into Prowl's quarters, he was suppressing a snicker. "Yeah, you're definitely Prowler," he said, looking around the perfectly ordered and neat space that was the entry/living room. There was nothing of personal interest or flare on the walls, no color. The few objects in the space would have been depressingly functional if they hadn't been so completely _Prowl-like_ to Jazz. "If there was any doubt this clears it up."

"I have not had any reason to acquire luxury goods here," Prowl said quietly as he crossed the room to one of the two doors and palmed it open. "Though Metroplex, Prime, Mirage and Smokescreen have all given me a few things. It disturbed them that a mech of my rank recharged in quarters that were unchanged from when I moved in."

When Jazz poked his helm through the door he did note that there was a little more life here, though it was all classic Prowl, or classic Jazz. A painting of a silver mech with a black glass visor and wild grin posed seductively and playfully on a dance pole. Fine quality berth covers and padding of a similar color to the silver mech mixed with red, black and gold. A carved crystal that glowed a soft spark-blue, though what it was shaped to be Jazz couldn't even guess, was sitting on a side table.

"You will recharge here. There is a pull-out berth in my office that I will use," Prowl told him. "The washrack it through the door," he motioned to the right. "We are inside Metroplex. Have you ever resided inside a metrotitan?"

"Yeah, Autobot City, in Metroplex," Jazz spoke the designation twice, first in his native language, then in English. After taking in the rest of the room, he returned to the painting, walking up to it and looking into the shining black visor. "I can recharge anywhere, you should keep your berth."

Prowl stiffened slightly. "While I accept that it is unlikely to slow you down should you decide to enter, my private office carries the same security clearance as my work office. It is not acceptable for you to be unsupervised there."

"Welcome, Jazz," the rumbling voice of Metroplex vibrated their frames. "How do you pronounce your designation?"

"That is Metroplex," Prowl added, giving the metrotitan's designation in the habitation alt's native dialect.

Jazz pronounced it, looking up and around, before focusing back on Prowl. "I meant I'd take the floor, but if you promise that the berth in your office is sufficiently comfortable, I'll recharge here."

"You will _not_ recharge on the floor," Prowl said firmly. "The berth in my office is sufficiently comfortable. I have recharged there often." He paused, then motioned to the painting. "That was my Jazz."

"Looks like a charmer," Jazz said. It felt surreal to look into a visor that he knew was somehow _him_. "What a world," he murmured, almost to himself, carefully touching the frame. "Where everyone I loved survived and Jazz is the one that left." 

"And now you are here, among those who cared for him, loved him," Prowl murmured softly, trying to conceal the longing that would not be put down.

Jazz hummed and nodded, then looked at the glowing crystal. "What's that?"

"Something from Prime," Prowl flicked his armor in a shrug. "One of those 'you will understand when you are ready' items he's entirely too fond of."

"I know the kind," Jazz said quietly, as longing for _his_ Prime went through him. His Prime, his Prowl, his command. "If there isn't anything for me to do, I'd like to recharge."

"There is nothing," Prowl said and stepped back, out the door. "Recharge yourself out."

Jazz nodded and had to jump to get into the berth, but once he was there, it only took moments to fall into the merciful emptiness that recharge offered.


	4. A Scream in the Night

Three joors after Prowl had left his charge and retired to his home office to work, a screaming, thrashing cry snapped him to his pedes and out the door even as Metroplex was telling him that it was Jazz having a recharge terror. He burst into the berthroom and took stock before moving further. It didn't pay to surprise his Jazz, and he doubted this one would take it any better.

He could hear glyphs through the screams, shouted desperately in the unfamiliar language. It was the same short phrase over and over, and he recorded it as he carefully approached the small mech gripping the berth and moving like he was struggling against another. 

Pin and disarm, neutralize the hands first, then the pedes, his processor told him, and he carefully made his way over, then stopped out of arm's reach. "Jazz?" he called. 

Nothing. 

He calculated the safest moment to move forward and was on the berth in three steps, grabbing the hands that immediately transformed out into claws and using a leg to pin the bladed knees down. "Jazz!" he demanded, using what the mech had told Metroplex rather than the English one.

Jazz startled into a rapid boot and his visor came to life with a bright flare and he shouted something else up at Prowl, then the same phrase again as he tried to squirm out of the pin.

"Calm down," Prowl fell back to English, calm and steady. Ratchet was already on his way, no doubt with either Mirage, Bumblebee or both. "Use English." As best as he could, he rubbed one of the wrists he was holding with his thumb in slow, even circles.

Gradually, the frame beneath him stilled, heated air escaping the vents. The armor that had been ruffled in alarm smoothed back down, and then the light in the visor returned to something more normal. "English," Jazz mumbled. "I'm..." He looked up at Prowl. "I will panic again in less than a klik if you don't unpin me," he said calmly. "I won't attack." The blades that had transformed out slid back.

Prowl nodded and made a rolling leap from the berth to put himself out of grabbing range in a single motion, but moved no further. "Ratchet is coming, likely with SpecOps help. What were you screaming?"

Jazz looked at him blankly. "What did it sound like?" 

Prowl repeated the two phrases he'd heard, then played the recordings. It made Jazz wince. 

"It isn't for you, get off me," he said, voice flat. He lifted his hand up to his chest and pressed down, squirming uncomfortably and frowning. "I think that means I got..." He trailed off, searching for the closest English translation. "Post-traumatic stress disorder."

"Not surprising," Prowl gave what he hoped was a soothing rumble and held up a hand slightly behind him when the outer door to the apartment slid open. "You have been through a great deal." He pinged an update to Ratchet.

The medic still peeked around the corner, looking in. "All right to enter then?" he asked gruffly. A yellow and black mech lingered behind him, trying to stay out of sight but Jazz could tell that it wanted a closer look. 

"'S good," he said, sitting the rest of the way up. "Not much for you to do, though, Doc. Unless you've found something compatible."

"From the scans I have, I can wire a standard port into you, but I have doubts it would help much," Ratchet admitted grouchily. "I was coming more to put _him_ back together," he jerked a thumb towards Prowl. "He _still_ hasn't grasped that tackling an Ops agent in a deep flashback isn't a smart move."

"Jazz only hurt me _once_ ," Prowl glared at him, using his mate's designation but the rest in English. "I know how to pin one."

"He does," Jazz admitted, but found himself looking more towards the bright yellow mech that had come forward, optics focusing in on him in interest. "Who're you?" he asked curiously. 

The mech whistled and clicked, something entirely unlike anything Jazz had heard here yet. His visor blinked in surprise. 

"That's Bumblebee," Ratchet said. 

"Mighta guessed," Jazz said with a grin. "God you're as tall as me. Are you _all_ giants?"

Bumblebee gave a few more whistling clicks.

"Except for the femme gestalt components and Blaster's symbiots, you are one of the smallest mecha," Prowl explained. "Megatron destroyed Bumblebee's vocalizer at Tyger Pax. He can communicate with sound bites, but prefers to use the base code language."

Bumblebee said something, doorwings lifting eagerly up. 

"Says he wanted to meet you," Ratchet translated. "Him n' Jazz were good pals." 

Jazz nodded in understanding. He missed his Bumblebee, but the younger mech was doing well in the new command structure and they hadn't seen much of each other after the changes. He wondered who would be first to notice he was gone. "Good to meetcha, Bee," he said, smiling faintly. "Hitcha up later?"

Bumblebee gave a series of chirps that were a clear agreement, then looked at Prowl and whistled a question.

"Yes, the excitement is over," Prowl nodded. "Thank you for coming."

"Come on then," Ratchet nudged Bumblebee out the door to leave the pair alone.

"What can I do to help?" Prowl asked, a bit uncertain. He knew how to help his Jazz, but they had a very different relationship.

"Just ... stick around until I'm well into a defrag," Jazz said. "You feel like him. It'll help."

"All right," Prowl relaxed and closed the distance between them in one step, then knelt on the berth, looking at Jazz for some direction as to position and proximity.

The smaller mech looked a little lost for a moment as he considered the size he was working with, then shifted easily down onto his side, reaching up for Prowl's hand. It was immediately given and Prowl followed the small tug, laying down next to Jazz, facing him. Jazz's field brushed against his. "Like that works," the former commander murmured, and then after a moment of hesitation, brought Prowl's hand to his waist. He shivered. "God you feel good." 

"It is mutual," Prowl whispered, his systems, his very spark, cycling up eagerly for more even as he forcefully shut his interface systems down. "I have missed this."

Jazz sighed, and fought against the desire to press forward, seek _more_. It was just the fields, tricking him, tricking both of them. Familiar spark frequencies were rushing eagerly together, wanting and desperate for any amount of comfort after so much grief. "Look, I'm not ... I'm not _him_ ," he said. "And you're not ... but I'm okay with forgettin' that for a while if you are." 

"Yes," Prowl's answer came with a shiver. "I know you are not my Jazz," he whispered the designation of his beloved mate as it was meant. "But you understand."

Jazz nodded and in the next moment, the small, warm frame was pressed to Prowl's chest, hand going up to his neck to offer what comfort was even possible before cycling down into recharge before he could do more. 

Prowl's spark lurched in his chest, straining to get closer to the one so close yet impossibly far away. He wanted to keen, to scream at the cruelty of it, yet he couldn't. With this mech pressed against him, snuggled in like he belonged there, all Prowl could do was be still and accept it as his frame began to relax.

* * *

When Jazz booted up, it was with a careful scan of his processors before any of his external sensors even began to come online. Everything seemed flat, even, normal. No flashback loops that he could locate, his spark felt settled for the first time in so long. Injured, but settled. 

External tactile sensors came online first and Jazz realized that he wasn't alone. That he wasn't alarmed told him who was with him. A push of his field and careful teek confirmed, and his visor flickered on to show him Prowl right where he'd been before, but in recharge. 

His armor flicked in faint surprise, but he was pleased. He hadn't come out of recharge in so little pain in such a long time. He was fairly sure this Prowl was enough like his own that to be in recharge embracing another meant he felt safe no matter what his tac-net was no doubt telling him. Unlike most, this Prowl was under no delusions that Jazz's size and simple looking frame meant he was harmless. How he'd pinned him had proven that well enough. It had proven that the other Jazz, the silver one, had not only trained his mate to survive living with an Ops agent, but also how to take care of one in distress.

His attention was drawn to the frame against his as he felt it begin to boot. He pushed his field out carefully, just brushing, not wanting to startle. Prowl-- _his_ Prowl--reacted badly to being startled. Both of them always had. They'd understood each other that way. 

"Thank you," he said quietly once he deemed the other mech's systems to be more online. 

Prowl hummed softly and shifted, reaching up with one arm to slowly rub Jazz's stubby, square sensor horn. "I have not recharged that well since Prime took Jazz away."

Jazz sighed and pressed into the touch, basking in it. "What happened to him?"

"In the second to last major battle, in an effort to keep the Allspark from Megatron, he challenged the Decepticon Lord by himself and was torn in two," Prowl related the events as clinically as he was able, unprepared even now to really face visualizing it.

Jazz winced. Stupid move. Stupid, dramatic, reckless, and oh so _familiar_ sounding move. It was the kind of thing he would have done, and then come home to Prowl to get chastised about while he laughed it off. 

Only in this universe, it hadn't worked like that. "Your Megatron as big as your Prime?" 

"Twenty eight point six percent taller with sixty-three percent more mass," Prowl said. "My Jazz was a bit shorter than you with less armor."

Jazz nodded, carefully thinking that over. "What's an Allspark?"

"The source of all Cybertronian life. It is where sparks come from," Prowl explained.

"So ... kind of like Vector Sigma," Jazz said, then frowned. "But not just pre-programmed mecha? Can you..." He searched for an English word for _kindle_ and the only similarity he could find was woefully inaccurate, indicative of an organic species, and didn't even begin to describe the full phenomenon of creating a new spark. He cringed. "Gonna be a really bad translation here. Can you get pregnant?"

"No," Prowl's field betrayed his utter confusion. " _All_ sparks came from the Allspark. Everything living was sparked by it."

"So you just build, er ... baby frames and spark them to life?" Jazz asked.

Prowl paused to organize his thoughts on a process that had stopped not long into the war. "The general process was to build the alt mode and present it to the Allspark. It would either be accepted and sparked, upon which it would transform into its root mode, or be rejected, in which case nothing happened. If sparked, it would be taken in by a group of mecha with a similar function to socialize, educate and train until it had matured mentally to the point to become a full member of society."

A long moment of silence. "I think I need a history book," Jazz said. "And probably also a few more."

"Metroplex had the basic physiology, cultural and history files translated to English before we entered my quarters," Prowl said soothingly, his thumb still stroking soothingly on the sensor horn. "They are ready when you are. He also included a basic English to Cybertronian glyphs file for you. Since your vocalizer can reproduce our language, it seemed prudent to provide you with the resources to learn, since you can not download it."

"I'll get the hang of it," Jazz said, tilting his head up with a grin. "Your medic's been helpful. And I already know how to ask for a fuck almost a dozen different ways. What more does a mech need in life?"

"A function they are suited to?" Prowl suggested as much as asked.

It had an immediate sobering effect on Jazz. The smaller mech quieted, his field pulled away and his armor tightened back in. "Had one of those," he said. "It kept me alive." The bitter resentment in his voice was clear.

"As did mine," Prowl murmured softly, his field making an effort to caress Jazz. "I merely thought you would want to do something. You do not need to."

"I do, though," Jazz said with a bitter laugh. He sat up and turned away, perching on the edge of the berth and drawing his knees up. "Gonna see what your medic can do for my code first."

Prowl's spark froze, then warbled its distress even as his processors made him nod in understanding. "Ratchet will do his best," he reached out to rub Jazz's shoulder. "Though it would be to your advantage not to tell him what you intend to do if he succeeds."

"Like mine was, huh?" Jazz said with a forced smile. His head tilted to rub against the offered hand. His visor flickered and dimmed as everything about his frame melted into the simple contact. Prowl wasn't entirely sure the smaller mech was aware of it.

"Likely, yes. Prime will be most upset with the choice as well, though he will do little to try and stop you," Prowl murmured and edged closer until Jazz was sitting between his legs and resting against his chest. "I believe he expects me to do that."

"Mhmm." Jazz offered little more than a hum as he leaned back, and his visor had barely any light behind it now.

"Recharge some more with me?" Prowl suggested softly.

"Yeah," Jazz said, and his field pressed against Prowl's gratefully as they drew back into the berth together to enjoy the strange comfort they'd found and pass as many moments in blissful unawareness as possible.

* * *

Prowl roused half way when the comm ping from Ratchet came in, just enough to talk to the mech.

::I'm ready to work on his upgrades.::

::He is recharging now. Should I wake him?:: Prowl asked quietly, concealing the fact that he very much wanted to slip back into recharge himself.

::Pit no, you crazy workaholic glitch!:: Ratchet snarled at him. ::Ping me when he boots up. I'll be ready.::

::Understood,:: Prowl replied with a small smile for the strange being curled against him, closed the comm and shut down into recharge again.

The next time he booted, there was one hand on his neck, exploring the wires there and carefully massaging, the other one was stroking his chevron. "You have some very similar designs to Prowl," Jazz murmured.

"I am not surprised," Prowl purred as interfacing protocols lit up on his HUD for approval. He denied every one. "Though there are significant differences, I can see the similarities between you and Jazz."

"Mm. Visor," Jazz lifted that tempting hand off his neck to tap his own and Prowl didn't know whether to be grateful, relieved, or disappointed. It returned again after a moment, small fingers getting in between the cables. "His sensor horns were rather a bit spikier."

"Yes," Prowl had to deny another round of interface protocol activation requests. "And less obvious things. Jazz ... do you wish to interface?"

The hand disappeared. "What?--I, _what?_ " Jazz pushed himself up onto one elbow to look down at Prowl. "You remember that talk we had about baby steps."

"I remember. But touching, like this, my systems keep asking to activate my interface protocols," Prowl struggled to explain, even as he winced at how poor his word choice had been. "I have been denying the requests, then I questioned if you wished me to."

"Oh," Jazz said, and settled back down. "Sorry, didn't realize I was doing that. Supposed to just be relaxin'. Not yet. Be lyin' if I said I didn't wanta push you down and have my way with you but ... baby steps, man." He kept his hands carefully to himself.

Prowl reached out to caress Jazz's cheek. "It is relaxing. It feels nice. It doesn't need to arouse, not like where you asked me not to touch. I asked because I wanted to be sure of your intent."

"Oh good," Jazz said with relief, tilting his head into the touch. "Somewhere you'd prefer besides your neck?"

"Most places feel the same with the protocols off," Prowl said easily, continuing to stroke his thumb over the strangely soft, smooth metal skin that covered Jazz's facial plates. "Sensor rich areas such as the neck, pedes, hands, wheel wells, wheels and sensor wings feel better than more heavily armored areas. The only erogenous zone for me is along my chest plate seam. I have too many memories of pleasure associated with it not to make the connection with a mech I am attracted to."

"Chest plate seam no, check," Jazz said, reaching up to carefully touch the strange, alien looking facial structures of his companion, marveling at the complexity that they didn't protect with a dermal layer. "Are the protocols always that sensitive or are you just sort of champin' at the bit?"

"Uhh ... champin' at the bit?" Prowl asked, even as he relaxed into the touch and wrote a small auto-response to deny the interface protocol requests until further notice.

"Ready and rearin' to go," Jazz said with a grin. "If you're anything like my Prowler ... you haven't gotten any in a long time."

There was a momentary flash of recognition across Prowl's features. "Not since Jazz left three hundred and eighty five vorns ago."

"Thought so," Jazz said. "So are the protocols normally this trigger happy, or do you just have three hundred and eighty five vorns of steam to blow off?"

"Jazz was the only mech that could trigger them," Prowl admitted softly. "Jazz, and now you. I was designed to have a very low interface drive."

"...Ah," Jazz said. "Gotcha." He snuggled carefully up to the larger mech. "How long are you allowed to stay here and do this?"

"Until you decide to boot up," Prowl gave a soft trill. "Ratchet was quite insistent that you recharge as long as you like."

Jazz bit back the answer-- _forever_ \--because he knew that it would make this Prowl teek unhappily, and he knew with certainty that he did not like when this Prowl teeked unhappily. He sat up and stretched. Maybe Ratchet had figured out how to get his systems synched with the rest of them. "Better sooner than later."

Prowl was slightly more reluctant, but most would not have noticed as he got off the berth and pinged Ratchet with a message that they would arrive shortly. "I am sure it will bring some improvements, even if it does not synch everything with our tech. It would be nice for you to be able to download files, or at least send comms."

"Would be," Jazz agreed, filing the hesitation he'd seen away after he chose not to acknowledge it. He wanted to crawl back into that berth, curl up with Prowl and never get up. And he was very, very afraid that if they didn't move soon it was exactly what would happen. Once Prowl was standing, he nodded once and started walking, Prowl following behind, not missing a single turn on the way.

About halfway there, Prowl asked, "Jazz, have you attempted to read anything since your arrival?"

Jazz shrugged. "I can pick out which set of symbols mean 'no entry,' 'private,' and some high grade flavors, but that fine establishment shockingly did not draw the finest patrons. Hasn't been much to read."

"At least those pathways are intact," Prowl said, allowing the implications to speak for themselves. That his concern was saying far more than he would have liked to the few who heard didn't occur to Prowl, but Jazz picked it up and quietly noted who seemed to have been paying attention. "If Ratchet keeps you past the repairs and checkup, I will bring the datapad for you to read."

Jazz thanked him, keeping his attention turned outward as they walked, looking for the mecha that glanced, the ones that stared, the ones that stared while pretending not to, and the ones that genuinely didn't seem to care. It didn't take much to tell that Prowl afforded a high level of respect among these mecha, and near the top of Jazz's danger assessments were those who might take that respect to a fanatical degree and view him as a threat. 

He had nothing to go on for the entire situation, though, because popping into a different universe with no explanation and all but falling into the arms of a spark that felt exactly like a lost mate...

It was all very strange, and very surreal, and he wasn't entirely sure the whole thing wasn't a massive glitch hallucination. 

Once they arrived in medbay, Ratchet rattled off something in Cybertronian to Prowl and Prowl responded in the same, though Jazz knew enough to pick out 'no', his designation, Prowl's designation and the local Jazz's designation and that the statement went far beyond that into some details. It was getting seriously annoying to not be able to understand the bulk of what was being said, even if he understood more than he let on. He had a sneaking suspicion that they expected he was downplaying his knowledge, given how much else he had in common with a mech they seemed to know very well.

While the pair beeped and clicked and buzzed at each other, which Jazz had decided sounded a lot like sparkling code spoken by adults, he glanced around, pretending not to be bothered about being talked about while he was _right there_. For a large medbay, the place seemed empty, though Jazz spotted Bumblebee being unobtrusive in a corner. The distinctive sound of wheels on metal drew his attention towards the door as it slid open to admit a truly strange looking mech that was nearly as tall as the Prime but far lighter in build. Legs jointed the wrong way, wheels instead of pedes, flicking doorwings ... actual _doorwings_ , not the strange armor based wings that Prowl sported, and a pair of heavy, long blades that reached nearly to the floor coming forward from the wrists. Built for speed and agility over everything, but with some armor.

Oh, and he was the same silver that the local Jazz had been. Though Jazz wasn't sure if that meant anything.

He peered at the tall mech, who stared openly back. "So who're you?" he finally asked, because there was no point in not asking, at least not in English. Ratchet had snarled at the mech and gotten a reply, along with a few gestures towards Prowl and then Jazz with those long, heavy blades.

Eventually Prowl gave a long-suffering sigh. "Jazz, this is Sideswipe." He spoke the designations in both English and their native forms.

Sideswipe gave a hard twitch and glared hard at Jazz. "Sure doesn't _look_ like him."

"He does _fight_ like him," Prowl shrugged his armor. "While I appreciate your concern, we do not need a volunteer guard."

Sideswipe rattled something in Cybertronian in response and Jazz quietly kept his glee at all the samples of language to learn from hidden. It wouldn't do to let the ones who didn't want him to understand what they were saying realize that they were helping him succeed in that every time they spoke. He wasn't sure if Prowl knew he was picking of their language so quickly, but given what Prowl had offered him by way of translation material, the Praxian definitely did want Jazz to learn.

Sideswipe didn't move, even after Ratchet joined in to back up Prowl's assessment. 

Jazz cocked his head and took in the mech with that new information, thinking over his next question carefully. "Do you have a brother named Sunstreaker? Can the Allspark do that, brothers?"

Sideswipe was staring at him, and he realized that the others in the room were all giving him odd looks, except for Prowl, who only looked curious.

"Why would I have a brother?" Sideswipe asked, switching to English. 

"My Sideswipe has a twin named Sunstreaker," Jazz said, looking him up and down carefully. "Their spark split when they were ... conceived," he finally decided on. "One spark in two frames." He grinned suddenly. "So that would mean Sideswipe is the dominant half of the spark if they were just one, oh, wait until I--" 

He broke off. 

_Wait until I tell them._

"--Until I tell you about them," he finished quietly, but the break had been heard by everyone.

"I would like to hear about them, at least," Prowl tried to help the recovery from the break, though given the audience it was of very limited use.

Suddenly Sideswipe was snarling and gesturing at Jazz again, but speaking to Prowl. He didn't seem to pick up on the increasingly aggressive stance and armor flare the Praxian was taking, but even Ratchet took a step back.

Jazz automatically began to size up the warrior as he shifted behind Prowl. He wasn't familiar with this mech's fighting style, and while he was prepared for that, and even to some degree the height--he was estimating that Sideswipe was somewhere around two thirds his height taller--all of his chances would be better once he'd at least seen him engage another first, if it came to that.

"Prowl won't need the help," Ratchet said quietly in English. "Mech's a former Enforcer and liked to command from the front line with Prime. Sideswipe's a sparked warrior, built and coded for war, but he's exactly what Prowl trained a lifetime to subdue."

"What crawled up his exhaust and died?" Jazz hissed quietly as he backed off away from the pair and closer to Ratchet.

"Not enough action," the medic x-vented heavily. "Young, built for war and with no thought given to him surviving into peace."

There was a flash of black, white and red and suddenly the silver mech was on his front, pinned and cuffed and screeching curses at the smaller but heavier mech with one knee on his back.

"He also latched onto Prowl as a mentor-figure for some reason no one's grasped, including him," Ratchet muttered.

"So I'm seeing an intense protective streak that comes out at the slightest hint of trouble," Jazz said with a faint smile for his own version of this mech. "That's _all_ Sunstreaker. The silver, just a coincidence?" he guessed, glancing up at the medic. 

"Yes. He was created to be one of Ironhide's mecha, but was unusually flashy for a grunt. The only reason he even met Prowl was because Prowl was further forward than he had any business being," Ratchet huffed and watched as Prowl spoke calmly and held still on top of the silver warrior until Sideswipe settled. "Got yelled at to protect our tactician and never stopped."

Jazz nodded. He understood that. If their positions were reversed, he would act the exact same way. 

Prowl let Sideswipe up once he was sure the other wasn't going to attack again. The warrior asked something in sulky Cybertronian. Prowl shot Ratchet a look, and nodded after the medic did.

"Stay out of the way and we won't throw you out," Prowl added in English. "Also, try to speak English around Jazz. It's rude not to."

Sideswipe said something pointed in Cybertronian, then a stilted, "Fine." He looked towards the boxy mech. "I'll be watching you." 

"I'm flattered," Jazz said with a grin, then followed Ratchet's pointed look at the berth. He hopped onto it easily, lay back and looked up at the CMO. 

Ratchet grunted with annoyance. "Well, I don't know how to drop you into stasis. Can you do it yourself?" 

Jazz glanced at Prowl. "You'll stay here?" 

"Of course," Prowl said with a flicker of armor that was nearly insulted that there was doubt.

Jazz looked back at Ratchet. "Then yeah, I can drop myself down." His visor flicked off, and moments later his systems slowed to a crawl, many of them shutting down completely.

* * *

When Jazz booted, his first awareness, even before he began reading system reports, was of the field that made him feel safe. Also nearby was the field, much more aggressive, that he now associated with Ratchet. No one else was close enough to teek.

Reports began to scroll as fast as he scanned them, listing the new hardware. The hardline plugs and cables he'd expected, though he was a bit surprised that only two had been replaced: his medical port and his main data cable. The new hardware to his comm system was per plan too, though he was pleased that Ratchet had left his existing systems intact. Further reports scrolled past detailing all the minor repairs, and they were _repairs_ , nothing more than setting his frame to rights.

When he was finally done reading the internal review, he was in better shape than he'd expected no matter what the results of the comm systems turned out to be.

"All right..." Ratchet said slowly when Jazz onlined his visor and looked up. "Normally I'd databurst ya the right comm frequencies but..." Something pinged for attention in Jazz's processor. "Ya getting that?" 

"It's fuzz," Jazz said, frowning. He took the corrupted datapack and ran it through a basic filter. "Hang on, got some stuff that works really well for unscrambling code, just takes a bit to run."

"All right. How long is 'a bit' in this context?" Ratchet asked with unusual calm.

"Let you know when it's done," Jazz said with a shrug. "Could take less than a minute or up to an hour. Seeing as how it's just a comm frequency I'm guessing closer to the former but," he shrugged again. "What else ya got?"

"Let me plug in an' find out just how alien your coding is from ours," Ratchet already had a primary medical hardline out. "I'm not going in just yet. Let's just try to complete a handshake."

"Check," Jazz said, and let his medical port spiral open. Deceptively calm, beneath it all his firewalls were up and armed, ready with tricks and traps and nasty viral surprises that could wipe entire cores before anything was even breached. 

Old habits died hard. 

Ratchet plugged in and Jazz waited for a connection ping. What he got was more like the opening tone of dial-up internet, and felt just as slow to connect. "Well that's _magical_ ," he said, cringing a little.

"It's an improvement, but I'm not going to be doing anything until you can write some kind of translation code, or one of us figures out how to download a solid sample so I can write something," the medic huffed and unplugged. "I got a bit more than you probably did, but it's nothing more than confirmation that the very foundation of your processor structure is radically different from ours. It's a miracle that you have as much in common with us as you do."

"What can I say," Jazz said with a grin, reclining back with his fingers linked behind his head. A few moments later, he got a ping that the unscrambling codes were finished with the datapack he'd received and tried to open it. He hummed thoughtfully, looking at the results, then tried an experimental burst of the information back to Ratchet.

The medic actually looked startled, then irritated, then resigned with a bit of concern. "Well, I got the packet, but it's so much gibberish."

"Forward it to Blaster, Boomer and Mirage," Prowl requested. "Perhaps a cryptography or comms specialist can understand what we cannot."

"I'll keep working on it," Jazz said with a resigned sigh, then glanced back at Ratchet. "So getting into my code is..." 

"For now, out of the question," Ratchet said, shaking his head. "Sorry." 

Jazz lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "'S all good, my mech."

"Will you need Jazz here any longer then?" Prowl asked politely, oblivious to the sharp rise in tension from Sideswipe.

"Nah, get going," Ratchet said, waving them out after giving Sideswipe a slicing look. The silver warrior's expression darkened but he sulked back enough to not be an active threat. 

Jazz sat up and slipped right off the table into a light jump into Prowl's arms, wrapping his legs around him to hold himself up and bringing the sides of their helms together. "Guess I'm stickin' around for a bit," he said, voice pitched low and only for Prowl. Sideswipe's growing engine was hard to miss, and the click of his long, heavy blades tapping on the floor was even harder.

Despite it, Prowl's entire focus was on Jazz. He shivered and sucked in a hard draw of air as his arms came up automatically to secure Jazz there. Fingers moved on their own accord, dangerously sharp claws stroked along Jazz's backstrut without leaving a scratch. It made the smaller mech shiver with a rapid sequence of flicking armor. 

Ratchet rolled his optics, though privately he couldn't have been more pleased. "Well go on, get out," he said, waving them towards the door.

When Prowl moved to comply, Jazz still wrapped in his arms, Sideswipe's horrified chittering squeal was enough to make him look at the silver warrior and the expression that was somewhere between disgusted and pleading. It was enough to click Prowl back to reality and he started to let go, slowly enough for Jazz to easily transition to his pedes.

The boxy mech didn't try to hide his displeasure, but he went easily down. He didn't let go, though, out of a desperate need to be _touching_. Prowl didn't try to dislodge him, answering Sideswipe's next objecting growl with a sharp look that turned it into a plaintive sound. Despite that, the warrior rolled along with them, guarding their backs as they walked to Prowl's quarters. Jazz, and even Prowl, noted the higher number of looks they got with Jazz being so clingy, and Jazz noted that many of those mecha looked at Sideswipe next. Some even held a look of pity for the unhappy warrior.

He comforted himself with Prowl's seeming obliviousness to everything he was reading off of Sideswipe, but the silver mech had become a priority to keep an optic on all the same. Hyper-loyalty mixed with desire and jealously was a dangerous combination. If this Sideswipe was as smart and sneaky as the one he knew, and he probably was, he could make existence rather miserable. "Looks like our stop," he called over his shoulder when they reached Prowl's door and got a growl for it.

"Sideswipe, Jazz is _not_ a hazard to me," Prowl's tone sounded more tolerantly resigned than Jazz had hoped for.

The silver warrior hissed with a sharp click and fluffed his armor out with a posturing that Jazz thought looked a lot like an Earth bird trying to use display to lure a prospective mate away from its current choice.

Prowl didn't respond as he palmed his door open and walked inside with Jazz. It wasn't until it closed that he looked down at the mech clinging to his arm. "Sideswipe is a good mech whose function no longer exists. Do not take his growling and posturing too seriously. He can't help himself from trying to pick fights."

"Mine's the same," Jazz said with a shrug, nuzzling against Prowl. "Well, Sunstreaker is the same. Sideswipe is usually trying to stop the fight but gets pulled in once it starts anyway."

"Would you like to begin reading the history file?" Prowl asked softly, making no effort to dislodge his guest. "Or we can settle and you can tell me about these twins if you are so inclined."

"Read," Jazz said easily. He didn't want to think about the world he wasn't ever going to see again. 

It was strange, he'd wanted to self-destruct, grown to resent those living around him, those _choosing_ to live around him, all for the loss of his mate. Now that he had _this_ , warmth for his home was starting to return. 

Not that he would trade. 

Prowl followed his lead to the berth and handed him a datapad already queued up. Jazz glanced over the symbols and confirmed they were ones he could understand, then waited for Prowl to settle before curling up with him and skimming the list of contents, choosing a basic history file to start. "I'm not keeping you from your duties?" he asked in a murmur as he read.

"Not yet," Prowl said calmly as he pulled out a working datapad and styles. "I can read and sign off on most reports here as easily as in my office."

"Good," Jazz said, happy to drift into comfortable silence as they both worked. On some level, he knew that he'd known this mech for almost no time at all, but the familiar, relaxed quiet came easily and naturally.

Some things never changed. 


	5. Ghosts

Jazz roused when Prowl got up, but sank back into recharge when he murmured that he had work that required his office. Recharge was still the easiest thing to do. 

The next time he booted up, rising to a level just below full awareness, he became aware of speech. He finished the boot, keeping his visor off but listening carefully. 

Prowl's voice, and one he didn't know, arguing. The whistles, clicks, and chirrs were getting easier to decipher and he heard Jazz's--the other, the silver one--designation more than a few times. Safety, security, trust. There was more, subtleties he couldn't understand, but the gist was simple enough.

He pushed himself up, swinging off the berth and creeping over to the doorway, pressing up against the wall and straining to hear the intricate sub layers of their speech. Prowl's was frustrated, distressed and seemed to be doing most of the arguing. Though like his own Prowl, this one wasn't much on yelling. He was intense when he was upset, just as he was intense in his love, and there was no question that he was _upset_ right now.

_Lover_

Now that was a glyph he knew, though he wasn't used to hearing honesty and devotion in it. Whoever was in there had called Prowl _lover_ and very much meant it.

He carefully shifted around once he decided that Prowl was engaged enough in the argument to be there for a while, looking at the lock mechanism on the door. Superficially, it looked similar to ones he was familiar with, but his customized wrist cables wouldn't fit the same access ports. If he could get it open, he might be able to wire in directly, but...

Prowl would immediately be aware of an attempt to break in, and even if he wasn't, the argument would cease as soon as the door was open. He'd learn more by just listening. If anything, it was a greater depth of language than he'd heard anywhere yet, and his processors were rapidly recording, categorizing, drawing similarities in syntax to help him create a grammatical structure. Each new sound was carefully recorded and sorted. 

He pressed his audial to the door and listened and waited.

A lot of it was about him. He even heard his proper designation several times. Good and bad, and it seemed both sides were debating both points. After the better part of a joor, he heard an entire sentence he thought could translate and it made no sense at all.

"Lover, you have to _live_ , not just survive an empty shell. You know what I'd want for you," the unknown mech said.

Prowl only offered silence, then a soft, emotionally pained keen.

When the discussion seemed to fade and end after that, Jazz hurried back, his first instinct sending him back to the berth. He was almost all the way on when he paused, backed up, and walked slowly into the doorway, leaning against it and watching, thumbs hooked loosely and casually into his hips joints. 

He wasn't surprised to see the door unlock and slide open four kliks later. Though Prowl was not the one he'd expected to see walk out, the Praxian did look as distressed as he'd sounded. For a moment, he considered slipping back into the berthroom, but seeing Prowl in distress wasn't something he could bring himself to turn away from. After a few moments where Prowl seemed to be inclined to simply stand a couple paces into the living room and stare, he gave a soft, concerned trill.

Prowl startled, his armor fluffing as he whirled to face the sound and dropped into a combat crouch, only to give a chagrined look and forced himself to stand down when it registered who was there.

Jazz cocked his head. "Something gotcha worked up?" he asked carefully, taking several slow steps forward, broadcasting every movement, holding his hand out for Prowl to finish closing the distance. 

"My apologies," Prowl settled himself the rest of the way and took the couple steps to accept Jazz's hand, only to pull the mech against him.

Jazz melted into it, head against Prowl's chest, wrapping his hands around and trailing light paths up and down the back strut. "...Video call, or is someone still in there?" 

"You ... heard?" Prowl almost choked with a flare of distress that was quickly caught and crushed. "A call, of sorts," he murmured uneasily.

Jazz pondered that reaction for some long moments, reassuring with his field. "Only caught some of it. You sounded upset."

"He often upsets me now," Prowl whispered, stroking Jazz's back to comfort himself. "It wasn't always that way between us."

A careful nod. "He called you lover?" he asked, letting the jealousy flicker into his field. 

Prowl went still and silent for a long, painful klik, then nodded ever so slightly. "He is not something you need to be jealous of. He is no longer a mech. No longer alive."

Jazz's armor gave a startled flick as he lifted his head. " _Who?_ ...How?"

"Jazz," Prowl whistled his dead mate's designation. "He was torn in half but left largely undamaged otherwise. His processor core was completely intact and shut down smoothly. It's now an AI I've kept for company, but it won't allow itself to be turned off. Very much like the mech it belonged to."

Jazz froze, then twitched uncomfortably. He understood that too well. "What were you talking about?" he asked, to stall for time to wrap his processors around that identity. 

"You, us, that he's gone, that what I've been trying to accomplish by keeping him around will go faster if I stop telling myself that it's wrong to care about another," Prowl spoke quietly, the very conversation one that would cost him his career if it got out.

"And ... what have you been trying to accomplish?" Jazz asked.

"To move on, either from him or my duties," Prowl answered, absently wondering why he was being so honest with a mech he barely knew.

"Can't tell you how many times I heard that," Jazz said with a bitter half grin. "Move on. Never exactly like that, no one was stupid enough to tell me to just _move on_ from Prowl but..." A quiet hum. "There are enough ways to say it. _Jazz_ wants you to move on?"

"Yes," Prowl's voice was barely above a whisper. "He wants me to be happy, even as an AI," he added bitterly.

"AI's more likely to want you to be happy," Jazz said. "AI can't feel. But I know I'd want Prowl happy, as much as I know he wouldn't be, not with me gone. He'd have thrown himself into his work, with that obsessive way he had, but move on..." Jazz shook his head. "Never that."

"Which is what I did whenever he was away for long," Prowl sighed. "I was created to work, enforce rules. Content was what I desired, and I had it until he dropped himself into my life with all the subtlety of a supernova." Despite the pain it caused now and irritation it had caused then, there was great fondness in Prowl's harmonics and field.

"A charmer, huh?" Jazz asked with a grin. He jumped up, latching onto Prowl and holding himself up, arms draped around his neck and looking down at the startled mech that reflexively helped support him. "What does the AI say, about me?"

"That if it feels good, go for it," Prowl repeated what he'd been told, teasing tone and all. "This _we_ can't hurt _us_ ... and watch out for Sideswipe." The last a statement that still confused Prowl.

"I'm watching him for both of us," Jazz promised, then hesitated. "Can I meet it, him? ...Sometime, the AI? Not now."

Prowl hesitated, then nodded. "It can't tell you anything more damaging that I just have."

"I'm sorry I listened," Jazz said, touching their helms together. "Old habits die hard."

"I should not have assumed that standard soundproofing was enough to stop you," Prowl grumbled at his own mistake. "It was not as if I was unwarned of who and what you are."

"Damn right," Jazz said, then sobered. "You said he upsets you," he said quietly.

"Even as an AI, I do not believe he can bring himself to help me end my existence when all that is wrong is emotional pain. So he's doing the only thing he can, driving me away from himself so I can go back to what I was before we met," Prowl explain with the kind of cold practical logic that had kept him going when he knew he was sending innocent mecha to die.

Jazz's spark _shrank_ in his chest at the thought of anything happening to this mech, and then he shuddered to think of him losing everything he'd found with his mate. Prowl felt the sudden tension and his hands went up Jazz's back in immediate concern. 

"...Is this how you felt," Jazz finally whispered, "When I asked to self-destruct?" 

"Likely," Prowl admitted, his gaze to the side and down, unable to meet the bright visor above him. "Even as I knew it was your right, and may have been enough to drive me to leave the holding pattern I'm in."

Jazz made a small, distressed sound. "...You're not _him_ ," he said. " _I'm_ not him."

"No, we are not," Prowl's voice was low, unsteady in the way he got when he was still struggling to accept what he knew would or must happen. "Our sparks say differently. I will not fight mine any longer than you ask me to."

"Hasta be a reason I'm here, right?" Jazz asked, running his fingers down the side of Prowl's face. 

"Yes," Prowl shivered and pressed into the touch.

Jazz nodded once, cycled his vents, then whispered, "Fuck it," and pressed in for a kiss against Prowl's lip plates, glossa flicking out. Surprise rippled out from Prowl's frame, though there wasn't a trace of rejection in the confusion that quickly moved into an effort to mimic. After a few painfully clumsy moments, Jazz pulled back, just as surprised. "Wait, you don't..." he said, staring. "What _do_ you do?"

"To express intimate desire, affection or to display that one is your mate?" Prowl asked, hoping he had referenced the action correctly. Jazz nodded and Prowl relaxed slightly. "A hand over the spark, touching forehelms, forehelm over the spark are the most common, though there are variants with some frametypes."

Jazz cocked his head, frowning slightly, then leaned back in to touch their forehelms together, and one hand very hesitantly brushed the top of Prowl's chest. "Like so," he whispered, knowing with the first touch that he'd triggered Prowl's interface protocols. He'd been with enough of this kind of mecha to recognize quickly building arousal when he teeked it.

"Yes," Prowl moaned, snaking a hand from Jazz's hip to his chest and gently stroked the center seam. Yet instead of being rewarded with arousal, Jazz cringed away from the touch, only relaxing with the wave of apology as it quickly moved away and went back to his hip.

"What builds safe desire for you?" Prowl asked as he walked to the berth.

"My..." Jazz said, trailing off as he realized that they had never translated _spike_ and _valve_ into English. Instead, he took Prowl's hand and guided it down to his pelvis, resting the fingers over the spike cover. "Here," he said, with a moan as Prowl rubbed experimentally. His own hands found Prowl's neck and fingers slipped back between the cables, rubbing and stroking as he had before this, but now with such a different teeking response.

Prowl gently laid on the berth, careful not to dislodge Jazz as he settled the smaller mech on top of him. "Feels good," he gasped shamelessly when Jazz's relatively thick fingers began stroking in time to the pulse of Prowl's primary energon pump. No longer holding back, Prowl's interface protocols flooded him with charge-building pleasure and focused him on touching where his lover said felt good.

As strange as it was to respond to so little, Jazz _knew_ that teek, knew it well, and he straddled above Prowl, watching the way his expression shifted when he slid his fingers up and down. Experimentally, he crouched forward, running his glossa along Prowl's collar, as his other hand squirmed down to find a seam on the side. Prowl's helm fell back with a shuddering keen of raw pleasure.

Prowl's hand on his spike cover felt _molten_ after so long without being close to this spark and it took less than a klik before it slid away on its own. To his credit, or perhaps his arousal's, Prowl didn't even twitch at the shifting panel or the new texture under his thumb. He simply continued to rub, the touch light and exploratory. His other hand moved along Jazz's back, stroking the long flat surface of the alt mode hood.

Engines purred and Jazz kept his mouth busy with kissing and licking armor, as much as he wanted to press kiss after kiss to Prowl's lips, as his sensor net started to go fuzzy with the charge coming off the frame beneath him. He drew on everything he'd learned in the whorehouse from watching these mecha to pleasure his lover, in whatever frame he came in. Prowl's thumb swirled around his housing and he groaned, low and deep, before his spike jutted out against the touch.

That surprised Prowl, but with the serge of pleasure he could pick up in Jazz's systems, he put it to the side and focused and exploring the appendage a bit longer than his hand and as thick around as two fingers.

"Like that," Jazz moaned, shuddering against Prowl at the sensations it caused. Different from what he was used to with an experienced lover, touches that were unpredictable and fingers that explored every different texture along the sides. His hips rocked into it, and _oh_ how he wanted to sink into Prowl, move _just_ right and bring him to overload, or ride him, or _anything_ familiar. 

It was almost impossible for him to believe that what he was doing could feel as good as he could tell it did, but Prowl was moaning and shivering, and it was all from him. "What other ways do you pleasure each other?" he asked, mouth pressed to the seam at the top of Prowl's chest now, x-venting against it.

He drew a gasp before an answer. "Hardline, fields, spark." He purposefully surged his field into Jazz, pressing the energy into circuits and against Jazz's spark chamber to explain the one way he was reasonable sure was possible right now. "Primus!" he arched into a swipe of Jazz's glossa along the edge of a rich red chest vent, causing his vision to briefly white out.

Jazz's spark flickered in answer--he knew this, the teasing, erotic play of fields on crystal, resonating harmonies when they were pulsed correctly--but that was as much as he'd ever done. Willingly. 

Once, just once, he and Prowl had bared their crystals to each other, a taboo offering, a promise, and the idea of simply _merging_ like this, so easily, no eternal consequences...

Giddy, unbelievable, and even guilty thrills went through him. When had he ever backed down from trying something new? 

Though at the moment, he was fully enjoying exactly what they were doing, and it was an empowering thrill to make noises like _that_ come from his lover with such ease, to feel the field turn so bright with pleasure, _Prowl's_ field. Prowl's, in a way that made his spark sing to be close to. Prowl's hand on his spike, it had been _so long_. He shuddered and pushed, every stroke easing the ache. "Don't stop doing that," he gasped.

"Won't," Prowl managed to gasp out before moaning something in his native Cybertronian. His hand continued to rub and stroke, learning from the shifts of surging pleasure he could feel, though much of his awareness was lost to the pleasure roaring through his own frame.

Jazz moaned something back against his armor, vibrating the metal right over his spark chamber, a curse, a serenade, praise--it was hard to tell. But the voice went right to his spark with the field right behind it. 

It came to a head too soon for both of them, mecha who had had their mates torn from them, who wanted to spend _orns_ in pleasure, but with frames that were desperate for each other, it wasn't going to last. 

Jazz tipped over first, shouting and grabbing onto Prowl as his entire frame seized with the force of the charge that went through it, spilling heated transfluid onto Prowl's hand over and over. It would have startled Prowl right into letting go if the first surge of Jazz's field and the vibrations of his voice hadn't whited out Prowl's awareness of anything but the bliss of finally having _Jazz_ once more. His spark knew the other and sang with joy for it no matter how base the pleasure was.

As soon as he could control his frame again, Jazz shifted back and pressed his mouth to the center of Prowl's chest, licking up while his fingers traced the seam that ran through it.

Prowl moaned and pressed into the touch as his armor unlocked on reflex. But when he caught up with his input backlog, he froze.

"Jazz ... are you all right?" he asked, shifting his fingers around the rod that had brought so much pleasure to his lover.

Jazz lifted his head, visor bright, having to tear his gaze away from the parting chest. "Yes?" he said, a question in his voice for why Prowl would ask.

"You leaked a lot of fluid," Prowl explained, his distress halting his chest plates at simply unlocked.

A beat of silence, and then, "Oh!" and Jazz began to laugh. "No, that's--it's normal, I'm fine. It's..." Jazz cocked his head. "It does a lot of things. Mostly it's for pleasuring a partner.'

Prowl took a nanoklik to process that and relaxed. "To help conduct the charge into a lover who has the compatible port."

"Yes exactly," Jazz said with a purr as he dipped his head back down to run his glossa along the seam. "If my chest stays closed, will this still be good for you?"

"Very," Prowl shivered with a low, hungry moan and reactivated his armor's opening sequence. "Chamber and internals are sensor rich. My spark can feel too, if part of you is inside the corona," he explained as brilliant, near-white sparklight faintly tinged with pale blue spilled across Jazz's face.

Jazz stilled, staring at the crystal and the spark within. "It's the same color," he whispered.

"I ... cannot be surprised after what Prime said," Prowl trembled under his lover, not in fear, but with desire intense enough to draw a plea for _contact_ from the stoic mech. Not even the logical, tactical, survival-oriented demands of the bulk of his programming could object to being exposed before a mech he knew he'd only met an orn and a half ago. Not when the spark in that frame felt so very familiar and longed for.

Jazz nodded, a little dazed at the sight of a spark chamber that wasn't one he'd torn out of a frame, one he was allowed to _touch_. Caress. Soothe. 

Very careful fingers splayed out over the crystal surface, touching the weaving pattern, tracing the subtle curve back, deeper into the chest. Prowl moaned as his hands fell away from Jazz's hips, already lost in the exquisite perfection of such an intimate touch. He made no effort to control himself, no attempt to stop the chamber from spiraling open to allow his spark's corona to spill outward or the leaders to reach for the fingers of his lover.

Jazz grinned as he met them, watched them wrap around his palm. "Wow," he breathed, turning his wrist and watching the light spill and shimmer. "Feels ... like life." On an impulse, he dipped his head down and licked his palm, running his glossa through the spark energy. It surged into him through the more conductive oral lubricants, tingling along his circuits and setting off pleasure sensors that went straight to his spike and valve, but concentrated around his spark chamber.

"It is," Prowl shivered as the pleasure-charge began to build inside him once more.

Jazz purred into it, rubbing his spike along Prowl's hip as he dipped further into the light, trilling with the joy of being _immersed_ in this energy. His glossa swirled in time with light taps of his fingers against the crystal. He felt the pleasure building in his lover, channeled though Prowl's spark and thick in the Praxian's field. Trust was there, not just in exposing his spark, but in how completely he surrendered to the exploratory touches Jazz gave.

It was _exhilarating_. And while some small part of him was trying to remind him that they'd known each other for _less than two orns_ he really couldn't care. The energy coming off the sparklight was _pure_ Prowl, being surrounded by it was bliss. He licked and kissed the light and stroked the chamber, as his thighs tightened in around Prowl's frame, grinding against him. 

When Prowl's helm fell back with a moaning keen and his hands tightened on the berth cover, Jazz knew it was close. Energy crackled along Prowl's frame, zapping Jazz's at every point of contact but especially thick into his spike where both design and materials were chosen specifically for their high conductivity.

He groaned, low and deep, pushed his field forward to caress the chamber with his essence, letting Prowl know that he was here, they were together, no matter how strange it was. Prowl's pleasure had always been intoxicating, _addicting_ , and to have it again after so long was a high like no other. The high-pitched keen was unlike the Prowl's he knew, but there was no way to mistake the riot of pleasure pouring off him as Prowl's frame went into a massive cascading overload from his spark chamber outward.

Jazz trilled his absolute joy at the feeling of the overload, unmistakable, hanging on until the waves had subsided. Just teeking it made his spike ache again but when it was over, he x-vented to settle himself and lifted his head, looking up at Prowl with a bright visor and even brighter grin as he watched Prowl's chest armor slide closed. "We are doing that again." 

"I hope so," Prowl shivered in anticipation and reached to stroke Jazz's hip, trying to tease one finger between them to touch the spike pressed against his hip. "For now, how do you wish to overload?"

Jazz purred and shifted to allow Prowl access. "Just what you did before is perfect," he said, and then moaned as Prowl stroked.

"Then I will do so again," Prowl purred softly, enjoying the way Jazz gasped and arched as he stroked the short appendage. "Your pleasure feels good."

"So-- _oh!_ \--does yours," Jazz managed, before his vocalizer was lost to his cries until it cracked with ecstasy and everything else faded away.

Jazz found his awareness return slowly, full of warmth and the hazy bliss of an incredible overload backed up by the utter contentment of his spark as he basked in the field of his love, his Prowl. Under him, in the frame he was pressed tightly against, he could feel the gentle vibration of well-tuned systems, purring in contentment. "Some of your colleagues might not take this very well," he murmured with a lazy grin. 

"Most of them will take it quite poorly," Prowl said calmly, every aspect of the statement laded with _I do not care_. "Prime may be an exception, though even he may be disturbed by now quickly this happened. Ratchet will be _furious_ with my taking advantage of you."

" _Advantage?_ " Jazz asked with a bright laugh. "Mech, I could take you out in less than a klik." 

"I am well aware of that, as is he," Prowl gave a slight smirk up at his lover and reached up to stroke Jazz's back. "He will point out that you were spark raped not two orns ago and are in no condition emotionally to consent to interfacing yet." His expression shifted to a gentle smile. "I trust that you have endured enough in your existence to decide if you wanted me or not."

Jazz couldn't stop himself from lifting himself up to press a kiss against Prowl's mouth and hummed when he felt his lover make a slightly improved attempt at kissing him back, even if it was chaste. "If we had been mates for centuries he wouldn't think you took advantage. You would be the one I went to and he'd call it _healthy_." 

"Our sparks have been mated for centuries," Prowl hummed his pleasured contentment. "It is only our processors that need to catch up. I am very glad I could never give up my Enforcer coding. I may never have found you in time otherwise."

Jazz snuggled against him. "How soon d'ya hafta move?"

Prowl reviewed his schedule and duties briefly. "Unless a new meeting is called, I am not required to be anywhere specific for fifty-three joors."

"Good," Jazz said, absolutely content to stay right where he was.


	6. The Law and Justice

Jazz was content to snuggle against Prowl for the third orn in a row. He read translated histories and the Contact-English to Cybertronian dictionary while Prowl worked, or read, or whatever was on the datapads that Jazz didn't try to look at. The one time so far Prowl had left for a meeting he was quietly locked in the quarters for three joors.

He'd tinkered around with the lock on the door, trying his new plugs and seeing if he could hack it to release, but the systems on this planet were as strange to him as his were to them and he hadn't managed to get it open before Prowl came back, though he was pretty sure he'd made some headway. The rest of the time was spent reviewing history and requesting that Metroplex talk to him in Cybertronian.

The history was a lot to absorb. Though there were distinct similarities, there were also _massive_ differences. Like how the war began. Megatron hadn't been a miner turned gladiator turned revolutionary; he'd been the head of the military. Optimus hadn't been Orion the dockworker; he'd been created a Prime, the next in line from the moment of his activation. The war had begun when greed for power claimed the Lord High Protector's processors. Sentinel Prime hadn't been a shifty do-nothing, he'd been a great war hero.

There had been no crash landing on Earth followed by thousands of centuries of stasis, but instead scouts sent ahead to locate the Allspark. 

That was probably what Jazz found the most fascinating, this Allspark that had simply _sparked_ life into anything with the proper mechanical frame to work with. He'd watched videos from Earth police dash cameras of cars, soda machines, cell phones all coming to life, with a _touch_. No sires and carriers. No sparklings. These mecha were much more mechanical than his race, right down to their very society. The biomechanics of his own frame were something strange here. The ability to kindle and carry, as far as he had discerned, was unheard of, and his attempt to translate it into English had likely gone misinterpreted. 

His musings had been briefly interrupted by Prowl's return, but they were soon snuggled together and reading once more. Pretty much right where they were now when Prowl's frame gave a tiny twitch and Jazz picked up the energy signature of a comm call, though he could no longer hack it.

He pushed a question into his field, looking up at his lover.

"Would you like to be present for Riptide's trial, beyond your required appearance?" Prowl responded after a moment.

Jazz's visor blinked in surprise. "Judge Censura would allow it?" 

Prowl hummed an affirmative. 

Jazz thought for a few moments. Not so very long ago, someone like Riptide wouldn't have even been a blip on his radar. A greedy brothel owner who dealt in illegal residents and sold them to the highest payer? Far, far below his targets. Not unimportant, not at all, but not for him. 

But here... 

If this was going to be his home, as it was the home of his lover, and he wanted to learn to care for it with the same intensity he'd once cared for his Cybertron, caring about Riptide was _important_. "Yes," he decided. "I would like to be present."

"Have you faced this kind of situation before?" Prowl asked quietly.

"Not in an actual court of law," Jazz said with a shrug. "I've barely existed out of wartime enough for something like that. We didn't have judges, we had commanders and generals."

"How were the most serious regulations enforced, if not in a court?" Prowl asked, honestly curious and having a tough time thinking of how it worked.

"Brig time, physical punishment, public humiliation, ration cuts, rank cuts, exile, execution," Jazz said. "Depending on the crime and whether the officer determining the consequence was from the same faction or not. Military rule. Highest rank available heard from everyone involved and decided what would happen." 

"Interesting. For us, some crimes always required a court martial. Between one and five offices would listen, determine guilt and the sentence based on strict guidelines," Prowl explained. "Any charge that could result in the loss of rank, exile or execution was required to be a formal court martial, or at least an inquest, unless the mech being charged did not contest the charge. Even then any punishment of a dishonorable discharge, exile or execution had to be at least reviewed by a higher ranking officer or council of five. The higher the penalty, the higher ranked the officer had to be to give it."

"Sounds like a better system," Jazz said with a bit of a grin. "Near the end of the war on Cybertron we didn't really _have_ that many officers around to do things like court martial. Time restraints demanded that offenders be dealt with, and quickly." 

"How many mecha were left at the end?" Prowl asked, not about to contest the issue that few officers and time constraints created.

"We split," Jazz said. "To increase the number of targets. At one point we weren't even sure how many of our own were alive. A metacycle after coming out of stasis on Earth we learned the femme strike team was still functioning and we'd thought them deactivated _millennia_ before. So I can't say for sure. We tried to evacuate and got a few dozen out, more scattered into the universe. Less than a thousand had even gathered near the end."

"So not even sixty percent of what we've gathered here," Prowl mused. "So your kind are nearing extinction as well."

Jazz hummed. "Yes, but there are ... enthusiastic plans for building the numbers back up." He twisted to look up at Prowl. "Without the Allspark ... do you have _anything?_ "

"No," Prowl said simply, his armor rustling in a shrug. "Unless it reforms and is found, those you looked through when you identified your previous assailants are the last of our kind."

Jazz just nodded, mind wandering back to that hearing, when a neutral judge had granted him to Prowl for protective custody, and also limited access to their world. "Glad that place is getting shut down. Doesn't belong here."

"Pleasurebots serve an important purpose in society. I do agree that Riptide's version of how it should work is deplorable," Prowl agreed. "What was it like? I know you can't interface the way most would expect." 

"Nah, definitely not," Jazz said. "Once they figured out that plugging into me did a damn bit of nothin' I got stuck on massage duty." He set his datapad down and turned, jumping lightly onto Prowl's lap and settling there, fingers brushing over his chest. "How do the cords work, just energy moving over?"

"Mmm, there are several methods, though it does all come down to energy transfer. The two most common are energy, where you know it's energy, and memory, where one immerses the other in a memory and builds the overload to match the memory," Prowl purred, distracted by the contact to his chest.

"Sounds fun," Jazz purred back as his fingers found what he guessed was the correct panel for the equipment based on Prowl's size and build. He outlined the one he guessed was hiding the cord while settling a single fingertip on the closed port, rubbing curiously. "Is the equipment itself sensitive?"

"To an extent," Prowl's ventilations picked up as he slid the panel open. Jazz's fingers were close, if not exactly correctly placed. "Once interface protocols are engaged, all tactile contact that does not cause damage registers as pleasure."

Jazz hummed his interest in that--similar to his own physiology, though these mecha seemed to take much more pleasure out of frame touching than his did--and carefully teased at the tip of the cord that he could see, gently pulling it out. He ran the visible length through his fingers, oblivious the entire time to just how _intimate_ it was to pull another's cord from his chest. Prowl's ventilations picked up significantly and Jazz lifted his head. "Good or bad?"

"Very good," Prowl managed as he lifted his hands to stroke Jazz's sides. "Erotic and pleasurable."

"Erotic," Jazz grinned, and continued his curious exploration of the cord system, drawing out length until he hit the end, and then with Prowl's help, respooling most of it back inside his chest. An arm's length remained out, enough for Jazz to lift the end to his mouth to press a kiss against it, and then swirl his glossa around the jack. Beneath his visor, optics flickered up to watch Prowl's reaction and marveled at the flickering optics and slack features that were undeniably pleasured. He'd seen this Prowl's pleasure.

With a low sound of want Prowl reached between them to stroke Jazz's spike cover, teasing and coaxing in much the same way as Jazz had just touched Prowl's hardline cover.

The cover retracted immediately for him, something that Jazz _never_ turned down, as he continued to lick his way up the cable until he reached Prowl's chest, and pressed his glossa against the port, squirming it into the small opening as much as he could. When he got the heated surge of _erotic-intense-yes_ through Prowl's field he lifted his head a little, bringing his own hardline into view. Not designed for anything other than data transfer, he was curious to see if Ratchet's upgrades could help conduct just energy and tapped it lightly against the port to ask permission.

"Yes," Prowl's moan was deep and full of desire as his fingers worked to tease Jazz's spike out. He wasn't skilled at it by any means, but he understood that rubbing and light pleasure felt good. "Yes, please," he pressed into the touch, physically asking for the connection.

Jazz gave an excited trill as his hips and extending spike rocked against Prowl's hand, plugging into Prowl's chest and curiously sending over a small datapacket. Energy was required to make data transfers, and his hope was that it would be enough for Prowl's energy receptors to pick up on. "Anything?" 

Prowl's reply came in the form of a returned surge and some garbled data. It wasn't as strong as what Jazz had sent, but it was a nice tingle. "I sent you what I received," Prowl reached up to draw Jazz forward, resting their forehelms together as he upped the power he sent to Jazz. "Feels good."

Jazz purred and squirmed lightly as the tingle spread out further from his chest than it had the first time, coinciding with his spike clicking as it locked into full extension. "Does feel nice," he agreed. "Not as nice as this," he rocked his hips, "But no complaints here." He sent another packet back, with more data. 

Prowl replied with a pleasured hum and returned databurst, this one noticeably stronger again than what Jazz had sent.

It made the smaller mech trill brightly, pressing closer to Prowl and rubbing against his frame. "Does it change anything if we're both plugged into each other?"

"It will double the energy we can transmit at any one moment," Prowl moaned and closed his stroking fingers a little more tightly around Jazz's spike. "Both ways at once, or twice the charge to one."

"Double the pleasure, double the fun," Jazz sing-songed, grinning and shivering when a thumb swirled the head of his spike. He pressed a kiss to Prowl's port before bringing his cable up and clicking in and sending an experimental burst simultaneous to his lover. "Fun," he purred.

"Yes," Prowl murmured, his optics drifting off as he sank into the intimate bliss that was a trusted hardline. It wasn't as good as it could be if data was possible, but the energy directly from a lover's systems was linked to so much intimate pleasure that it still triggered those feelings, even if the actual charge was low and uneven. He knew Jazz didn't have anything to compare it to, or any skill in an act that could take a lifetime to perfect, but Prowl had a long lifetime of it and knew it could be _so_ much better with properly synchronized systems.

Still, the soft mouth that had moved down to his neck, the field pulsing with pleasure against him, those were good and only heightened the pleasure of the hardline connection.

"This probably doesn't compare, huh?" Jazz asked, panting lightly.

"No, my **Jazz** ," he sang his true mate's designation, "knew how to play me. Still feels good."

Jazz nodded, having expected that answer. "Got anyone working on how to get me compatible, or is that secondary to making sure I'm not a security risk?" A hot, slick lick up to Prowl's jaw that drew a shivering moan and slight catch to the pattern of Prowl's fingers sliding along his spike. "I'd understand that. I'd do the same thing if some strange Bot blew in out of nowhere."

"There is work," Prowl managed through the push-pull of energy through the hardlines. "Likely simpler to upgrade me to your systems."

"'S long as you've got some that are good at reverse engineering," Jazz said with a shiver, grabbing onto Prowl's shoulders and rocking harder in his lap. "External's prolly easier than--nnh--internal."

"We will see what they create," Prowl focused on his hand and pulsing energy through his field and the hardline as he rubbed and stroked the oddly sensitive length. The reward was being able to drink in Jazz's pleasure, and it was very, very sweet. "Something manual may come sooner."

"Mhmm," Jazz hummed, and tilted his head to rest on Prowl's shoulder, licking and sucking at the cables he could reach but largely lost to what Prowl was currently doing with his fingers. He sent regular pulses over, as large as he could get his systems to force into the cables, but it wasn't hard to tell that the effect they were having on Prowl was far less than what he was getting from them. "Will this make you come?" he managed to ask.

"No," Prowl shivered with arousal, his systems primed but well aware that the hardline would not push him any higher and Jazz didn't know how to use field play to drive a lover over the edge either, though the mech's field was strong enough once he learned.

Jazz nodded, again an answer he'd expected. His hands slid down from Prowl's shoulders and settled on his chest, tracing the chest seams. "Got enough time?"

"Yes," Prowl groaned deeply in anticipation and unlocked his armor eagerly. Even if it wasn't a merge, Jazz's fingers and smooth, soft lip plates did utterly amazing things, and he was more than happy to ignore his work in favor of this.

* * *

It felt weird coming into a court of law, and for all the differences Jazz recognized it instantly for what it was. A place of judgment. Maybe, under the best of circumstances, even a place of justice. Jazz knew all too well those two things rarely went together. He walked by Prowl's side to the front row where the most important witnesses of the orn were placed. Jazz recognized several of the other buymecha showing varying levels of distress.

They wouldn't meet his optics, and Jazz wasn't fluent enough in these mecha's frame language to tell if it was out of fear or shame or just common sense and self-preservation. 

He took his seat to wait until he was called to testify. He had to listen through opening speeches, the reading of Riptide's charges and the submission of his plea--not guilty. As the primary witness, he was up next.

He was a bit surprised when Judge Censura addressed the court -- all of two officers besides the judge -- once he'd sworn to the Matrix to tell the complete truth and nothing else.

"As the witness is not fluent in Cybertronian, all questions are to be addressed in First Contact English. Metroplex will translate if there is such a requirement. I know both the prosecution and defense are fully fluent in First Contact English."

"Yes, Your Honor," defense attorney Smokescreen said smoothly in English.

"Understood, Justice of the Peace Censura," Chief Prosecutor Nosecone replied in Cybertronian before approaching Jazz. "Please detail events from shortly before your arrival on New Cybertron."

"...From, shortly _before?_ " Jazz questioned carefully. 

"That is what I said," Nosecone said, inclining his helm. 

Jazz was quiet for the few moments it took him to debate lying, and then decided to just skimp on the details. "I finished a sabotage assignment, got away from the Decepticon base, then went down into recharge, and when I booted, I was here."

"What happened then?" Nosecone prodded him.

"I laid there for a while," Jazz said. "Then Riptide came along and started talking to me--I can't tell you what he was saying--and after bit he gestured for me to follow." Jazz shrugged. "So I did. After that I was in his _establishment_. That night he plugged into me for the first time, and when the data and energy corrupted--and from what I could gather, fed back painfully--he yelled at me and hit me. After that, he figured out that I still had _hands_ and could be useful as an activity enhancement, so to speak. Clients paid a little more to have me work them over while they fucked one of the others. How long should I keep going?"

"Defense will stipulate to the fact that the witness cannot hardline. Ratchet's report is enough," Smokescreen spoke up.

Nosecone nodded to his frequent opponent and focused on Jazz, unperturbed by the language. "Let us tease out a few details from that first. You claim not to have understood our language when you arrived. How did you know your services were for credits?"

"Most civilizations develop a form of currency," Jazz said. "So I started with the premise that this, looking to be a civilization, would follow the norm. Based on that, and the almost universal truth that the more advanced a population gets, the more abstract their currency becomes, I developed the hypothesis that the seemingly-useless sticks that were being handed, always from the visitors to Riptide, were a form of currency. I observed that certain sounds always preceded certain acts, and guessed they were prices."

"How were you prevented from leaving Riptide's establishment?" Nosecone asked.

"Physically, not at all," Jazz said. "But I was on an unfamiliar planet with no idea how I'd gotten there, had a total language and technology barrier, no way of knowing how to get energon if I ran, whether the locals would be hostile to me. I wasn't prevented until I tried to leave, and that time, I got out on my first try." 

"Before we go there, how many times were you required to participate in an interface?" Nosecone asked.

"Fuck, I don't know," Jazz said, rolling his head in a mimic of his optics. The Justice of the Peace cleared out his vocalizer sternly. Jazz huffed. "I would guess ... at least seventy." He glanced at the startled stare from the Justice. "Repeat customers. And Riptide liked to sample the wares." 

"Were you given anything while in Riptide's establishment?" Nosecone asked. 

"Nothing besides energon," Jazz said. 

"Were any other acts or duties required of you?" 

"No," Jazz said. "Though most tried to plug in at least once." 

"What happened from the moment you first became aware of the deceased's presence?" 

Jazz hesitated. "Clarification. When he walked in, or when I realized he had deactivated?"

"When he walked in," Nosecone said.

Jazz sighed, and diligently recited the conversation he had overheard exchanged between Riptide and Kartla, then paused to give Nosecone a chance for questions. 

"How much did you understand of what they said?" Nosecone asked, looking to establish how much Jazz knew and how much he'd simply recorded.

Jazz frowned, turning the tense of the question over in his processor. "I understood very little of that particular conversation." 

"What happened next?" Nosecone pressed into what he knew would be the most distressing event for both witness and audience.

Jazz didn't waver. "Kartla took me into the back and opened his chest. Then he started trying to get mine open and I realized ... he wanted to merge with me. He got my chest open, my crystal responded to spark energy, he forced the merge. I stopped fighting." 

"You deactivated him." Nosecone focused laser sharp attention on him, reminding Jazz that he wasn't entirely on Jazz's side.

"When the merge ended," Jazz said. "Before his chest closed." 

"The assault was over. Why attack him then?" Nosecone asked carefully.

"I believed that my choices were to live bonded to my rapist, and be subjected to future merges, or have control of my death," Jazz said.

"How certain were you that you could deactivate him?" Nosecone asked, trying to conceal how disturbed he was of the statement.

Jazz eyed him. "Very."

"Why?" Nosecone managed to keep his composure, at least to those who couldn't read wing-language well.

"I had an energon dagger in my subspace and his chamber was in reach," Jazz said. "How sure would you be?"

A ripple of murmurs went around the room, and more than a few looks went to Prowl, silently asking if he knew.

"Very sure," Nosecone admitted without difficulty. 

"Back up a bit," Censura broke in. "What made you believe he was trying to bond with you?"

"The theory is that I'm here because of an unexplained multidimensional event," Jazz said, and looked at Ratchet. The medic confirmed the statement to the court and Jazz looked back at his questioner. "In my universe, there isn't a choice. When two sparks touch they _bond_. Immediately, and every time, and without any kind of consent involved. We also die with our bondmates, without exception."

Horrified murmurs, shock and dismay rippled through the room once more. Even Justice Censura seemed to take some time to absorb the statement.

"You were expecting a homicide-suicide, but survived," Censura summarized the legalities of it. "Continue," he nodded to Nosecone.

"So after you realized you were not going to deactivated with the mech you believed had force-bonded to you, what happened?"

"I ... panicked," Jazz said. "I'd been so ... _relieved_ , to see a way out, but I was still alive, I didn't understand why, I couldn't stand the thought of continuing like that, so I pushed him off me and ran into the front, ran out the front door before Riptide could stop me, transformed and drove as fast as I could. I almost ran Prowl down, the rest is in his official report."

"You have read his official report?" Nosecone asked.

"Yeah," Jazz nodded. "Part of the prep for this, so I could challenge any details I disagreed with. He got everything down."

"Any questions?" Nosecone looked at Smokescreen.

Smokescreen nodded and rose smoothly. "Did you ever try to indicate your displeasure with Riptide and your situation?"

"Ya mean besides fighting back when somebody touched me until I figured out it wasn't helpin'?" Jazz sneered at him. "I tried. Mech wasn't much on trying ta listen to 'no'."

"But you did participate," Smokescreen said. "Willingly. No one had to force your hands to move."

Jazz cocked his helm and regarded the mech he knew another version of quite well. His tanks churned with a mixture of horror, disgust and rage. Instead of replying to Smokescreen, he turned to Justice Censura. "Does the law here recognize rape when other than physical force is used to acquire compliance?"

"Yes," Censura answered seriously, already teeking the rage building in the alien mech and signaling the guards to be ready.

"Relax, I'm not going to attack anyone," Jazz huffed. "It's just disgusting that this mech thinks that just because I wasn't capable of _saying_ no at the time that he had the right to do anything he pleased with me, and someone who's at least capable of being a decent mech is trying to justify it because _he_ knows I could have walked out. It doesn't seem to matter what _I_ believed at the time."

"I am interested in what you _did_ at the time," Smokescreen said. "We are judged by our actions, not our beliefs. While I agree with you that my client's actions were deplorable, I do indeed question that you stayed, with such vivid evidence of a society existing outside the walls of the ... _establishment_ , in your own words. Especially considering the force you seem capable of." 

"Smokescreen," Censura said, frowning. "I believe you've spent enough time on this question." 

"With all due respect, Your Honor," Smokescreen said, turning to face the Justice and bowing slightly at his waist. "I have a duty to uphold to my client, and I do not believe I have finished. I believe it is important that the court understand if there is any possibility that my client misunderstood Jazz's actions and attempts to communicate." 

Censura's expression didn't change, but he nodded. "Very well. Proceed." 

"Thank you, Your Honor," Smokescreen said, turning back to Jazz. "If no extreme measures were taken to keep you within the business, how was my client to understand that you were remaining against your will?" 

"Instead of asking me what he thought, why don't we have Blaster telepathically find out from him what he thought, knew and believed?" Jazz countered. "I know I believed I was acting to keep myself alive, which isn't the same thing as consent under your current laws. That lack of communication, attempted rape and beating that first night covered telling me I wasn't on a safe world. So I stayed where at least I wasn't going to be shot on sight until I could work out the language and comm structure."

"Riptide has declined being examined by a telepath, as is his right," Censura answered him. "Part of what we are deciding here today is whether or not he will lose that right. Please respond directly to the counselor question."

"Common sense?" Jazz suggested with a shrug. "I don't know what he was thinking. I just know what I was thinking, and what I was thinking is that the next mech to find me on the street was likely to be much worse if I couldn't work out how to talk first. When an apparent good Samaritan tries to rape you, beats you when he can't and sells you to others for the same but gives you energon, he's probably the best the area has to offer. The fact that I'm here telling this proves that he began his interactions with me on an illegal note, continued them on an illegal note and I question anyone who would believe that he wasn't willing to use more violence against me than he already had if I resisted again. He _knew_ I couldn't communicate and he knew he was breaking the law with every action he took with me." He leaned forward a bit and locked optics with Smokescreen. "So you tell me, when the first three things you do are illegal and you know it, just how much credibility should you have on what comes afterwards when the victim says the rest was?"

"Very little," Smokescreen agreed. "That is why he is here, when all we have is the testimony of an illegal alien with murder charges whose systems cannot be synced with ours and whom our telepaths cannot read. I want to be sure that my client is only punished for the crimes he _actually_ committed. Justice Censura, I'm through here."

"Anyone who's innocent shouldn't be afraid of a 'path," Jazz grumbled. "Saves everyone grief."

"Perhaps, but this is the law," Justice Censura told him. "You may return to your seat."

The other buymecha were called next, each of them testifying that they had witnessed Jazz resisting being plugged into, followed by his compliance with the acts. They were able to answer as to the prices Riptide had charged and what they'd heard him telling customers about him. Everything they said corroborated Jazz's story, but none of them could--or would--speak to how aware Riptide had been of Jazz's unwillingness after the first night, or whether his initial resistance had been because he didn't want to interface or if he'd been afraid of something else. 

Then it was Prowl's turn to take the stand, as the first reporting officer in the case.

The proud Praxian was sworn in, everything about him exuding seriousness, but also a level of comfort in this setting that spoke of being here often. He recounted what was in his report, affirmed that he still agreed with all that was in it, and began answering Nosecone's questions.

After the initial round of questioning--what he'd seen, how Riptide had behaved, acted, what his impressions of Jazz's comprehension of their language were--Nosecone shifted into asking about what his impressions had been. 

"In your opinion, what was the emotional state of the primary witness when you first encountered him?"

"Highly agitated," Prowl answered. "He was distressed, angry and confused. All of which would be expected given what is uncontested about the situation."

"That the deceased spark merged with the defendant, the defendant deactivated him and ran," Nosecone flicked his wings.

"Yes," Prowl said, flicking his own wings in answer. 

Nosecone turned to the general court. "As you are all aware, Commander Prowl has long been a force for justice in our society, in whatever form it has taken. He has an exemplary service record, is trusted by the Prime himself, and has long set the standards for integrity and fairness among us." He looked back to Prowl. "What is your opinion as to the witness's credibility?"

"I find him highly credible given the aspects of the story that have been proven," Prowl answered evenly.

"You developed an immediate affinity for the primary witness, did you not?" Smokescreen rose and tried to press Prowl, even though he knew it was a long shot it would accomplish anything.

"Objection, your honor. Relevancy," Nosecone immediately spoke up with a glare for the defense attorney.

"Goes to the reliability of the witness in this case," Smokescreen countered.

"Objection overruled. Proceed," Censura decided with a small motion of his hand.

"Same question." 

"Yes, I did." Prowl answered without hesitation.

"And might that affinity bias your opinion of the primary witness's initial testimony?" Smokescreen asked, and this time he knew he'd managed to raise his former CO's ire.

"No." Prowl straightened and flared, his optics flashing brightly at the insult.

"But how can we be sure? We can't 'path him, we can't connect to his systems. All we have, really, is your judgment that he was being truthful. How strong is this affinity?" Smokescreen continued to press, knowing just how dangerous the ground was but doing his job anyway.

"It is irrelevant to the current issue," Prowl kept his voice level, but no one missed the growl of his engine. Only a few mecha realized it was over the questioning of his truthfulness, his honor, and not over the implication of his closeness with the lead witness and a murder suspect.

"Answer the question, please," Smokescreen pressed, very much enjoying this rare moment of a riled Prowl.

"The affinity is ... significant." Prowl admitted.

"Are you lovers?"

"Objection!" Nosecone snapped.

"Overruled," Censura said easily. 

Prowl gave his former subordinate a scathing look that made more than a few mecha in the room uneasy. They all knew who he was, how powerful he was, and though he had an impeccable reputation for fairness, no one doubted that a mecha of his rank and survival didn't have the ability to be truly vicious.

"Yes," Prowl rumbled.

Smokescreen's optics brightened in shock--he honestly hadn't thought he'd find anything from the fishing, and neither had anyone else, from the shocked murmurs that went around the room. Even Smokescreen--who was excellent at his job, completely unflappable--had to stop for a moment to consider where to go from there. "Would you consent to being 'pathed to assess whether this has affected your ability to be unbiased?"

"Yes," Prowl relaxed slightly, utterly certain of when his bias happened and what it had done. "I recused myself from this investigation because I believed it was in the best interest of justice. I know what form my bias takes, when it began and how far it goes. I would remind you that I have brought our Jazz up on serious charges and saw he was punished," he rumbled, singing his lost mate's designation with all the adoration and devotion he had for the mech.

Smokescreen tilted his helm in acknowledgement. "Resulting in memorable trials," he said with a bit of a chuckle. "Regardless, I would still like to be sure that it did not cloud your initial reading of the situation." He looked to Censura. "I'm done, Your Honor." 

Censura nodded. "That concludes today's session," he said, then looked at Riptide. "Based on the evidence presented, I am ordering you to submit to being 'pathed. You may choose whether the telepath will be questioned in private with only official members of the court present, or in front of the general public in an open hearing."

"Understood, Your Honor." Riptide tried not to growl at him, but did when Smokescreen sat down to pack up for the orn.

"Prowl, you have the same choice," Censura regarded the Praxian.

"I will answer in open court," Prowl told him calmly.

"Very well," Censura said. He looked at Riptide. "Have your answer by the time we begin tomorrow. Blaster, see me for instructions, and we'll get this over with. The rest of you, go get on with your lives." 

With the court dismissed, Jazz was entered back into Prowl's official custody. It was easy to pretend like he was ignoring the stares as they walked out together, but each one was recorded and noted. Sideswipe's was dark, and Jazz stayed close to Prowl. He couldn't be surprised that the news of what Prowl had admitted to in court spread through the small city faster than any Seeker and they got looks from nearly everyone.

About halfway home Jazz picked up the signal that Prowl was talking on the comm with someone, possibly more than one someone, but frustrating as it was, he couldn't listen in. It, and three others, were all over by the time the door closed to Prowl's quarters and there was no mistaking the relief Prowl felt being there and out from the weight of the _looks_.

"So that was fun," he said, carefully trying to get a feel for Prowl's mood.

"There are orns I regret training him so well," Prowl grumbled before ruffling his armor to shake out the lingering tension. "Still, what needed to happen did happen so it was worth it."

"Not surprised you trained him. It shows," Jazz said with a bit of a grin. He walked into the berthroom, Prowl following, and jumped up onto the berth, motioning for Prowl to sit on the edge. Once he complied, Jazz slipped his fingers under the shoulder armor, carefully testing the tension of the cables he could reach. The flare of relaxing pleasure from under his fingers was a nice reward. "If he didn't do all that questioning mecha might think someone was getting off too easily." He paused for a moment, focusing on what his hands were doing and how much it made Prowl melt. "Even if I was pissed at him for it." 

"He is a good attorney," Prowl murmured as he began to sink down. "Defense and prosecution, but particularly defense."

"Will it ... make things difficult for you, that that came out?" Jazz asked. "What are your mecha like about sampling exotic wares?"

"It's more likely to make things difficult for you," Prowl murmured as he sank down to his front and his frame went lax, armor loosening. "They will wonder what you did to me, what power you have. The truth is harder to believe than more fanciful speculations. It will all pass, in time." He hesitated, a bit of a shudder passing through him from memories. "It's more socially acceptable than I find it."

Jazz's hands drew away. "You don't approve of interspecies relationships?"

Prowl glanced up at him over his shoulder. "I do not disapprove of it. I simply find it ... creepy for a mech to be with a non-mech."

Jazz considered for a few moments, arms crossed and head cocked, until Prowl's optics drifted almost pleadingly to his hands. He gave in and leaned forward again, slipping them back under his armor. "But I'm mech so it's okay," he mused. "What makes it creepy?"

"I don't know," Prowl groaned in pleasure. "I do not _think_ there is anything wrong with it. I do not _believe_ it is wrong. It just makes my circuits kink to see or think of it." He gave a slight pause. "Despite the rumors, I am a mech. I have faults."

Jazz gave a mock gasp of surprise. "Surely not," he said in exaggerated horror, earning a soft chuckle from the larger mech under him. Then Jazz grinned and leaned forward to kiss the base of Prowl's neck. "Are my systems creepy?" he asked curiously.

"Mmm, disturbing when I thought I had damaged you. Strange and a bit unsettling after that," Prowl admitted. "I'm too accustomed to having Jazz do _strange_ things to be too bent out of shape by it."

Jazz grinned. "Oh good," he said, and began to focus much harder on the caresses he was now giving Prowl's frame and enjoying the pleasure washing through his field from it. "Whadja take him to trial for?" 

"Mmm? Oh, he was caught smuggling syk, boosters and speeders before the war, selling them to the highest bidder. It ... it did not go over well," Prowl explained. "I had to charge him with murder twice during the war, but he beat both charges. Those were the worst of it. He was generally very skilled at avoiding detection. Something he taught Smokescreen."

Jazz hummed in answer and for a long time after that the only thing he used his glossa for was pulling cries out of Prowl until he was summoned for his appointment with Blaster.


	7. Protective Air

Jazz was flopped on the berth, reading and absorbing the new language he was living with and more detailed histories and cultural studies. In the metacycle he'd been living in these quarters, he still hadn't become a free mech, but he had enough freedom he wasn't yet itching to get out without permission. Though he knew it was helped that the hearing, a military rather than civilian one, was going to be held in a few orns on the subject. With Riptide's trial over, the murder charges against Jazz dropped when the deactivation was listed as justifiable and life on the outside apparently settling in to what they called normal, it was going to be Jazz's turn to plead his case for citizenship.

He knew he had Optimus and Prowl on his side, so he wasn't actually worried about his chances. It came down to some lip service about wanting to be a valued member of the community, give something back, have a place to live that might become a home. 

It was all empty slag, but what did it matter? It would keep him close to Prowl. 

With a harsh x-vent Jazz flipped the datapad off and rolled over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, hand going over his spark and clenching down. It was so, so easy to make himself forget the loss when he could _feel_ his deactivated mate's spark right there, but in the empty, lonely, silent moments it still came rushing back. He missed _Prowl_. _His_ Prowl. The mech he'd shared a lifetime with, fought beside, would have died for. The one he had memories with. He knew it was the same for this Prowl and his Jazz, could hear it in the way he sang his lost mate's designation, the quiet trills when he spoke of him. 

It all made it oh so easy to fall into each other's arms. 

He was lost in that line of thought and the memories when he felt the air flow of the room change, and frowned. He was the only thing in here, his ventilations had been at a steady speed and direction, there was nothing to create that kind of alteration. He turned his head, staring directly into the far corner.

There was nothing there, but if ... yes, he'd heard Mirage's designation. There was a Mirage in the city. He was the current Chief of Security, which was what Special Operations had become.

He ran his visor through all its settings, but rather as expected, nothing came up. Just as he was ready to tell himself he'd imagined it, the shimmer of a cloaking field refocused him.

"I must say, this does dramatically increase the believability of your claim to being Jazz from another dimension," a low, haughty voice spoke in English. British English, with the faintest of Russian accents.

"But knowing you, you're gonna grill me anyway," Jazz said, relaxing back down onto the berth and rolling onto his side, propped up on one elbow. He couldn't stop his visor flickering in surprise as the mech that could only be Mirage came into visibility. Like Prowl, there were distinct similarities, primarily the build and colors and helm, oh, and most definitely those yellow optics, but this mech was no fearful outcast that only survived because his SpecOps comrades watched out for him as best they could. This being was a _noble_ , bred and trained to command. This Mirage was no doubt a first creation, the one intended to inherit the command of a House before the Towers fell.

"It is part of my function," Mirage said without humor. "That you have so effectively attached yourself to such a powerful protector does make you quite a hazard if you cannot be trusted."

"No, I getcha, I do," Jazz assured him. "Lay it on me, man. Hit me with your best shot." He grinned. "I'll just keep quoting annoying clichés until you do. May even sing a few of 'em!"

There was a twitch and flare of golden optics. "What are the key differences between this world and yours?"

"Physiology and creation," Jazz said. "We don't have an Allspark. Your frames are different. Your coding is completely incompatible. Our war was over class hierarchy and resources. Cybertron wasn't destroyed. Optimus Prime and a handful of us spent four million Earth years in stasis after crashing there, we didn't go there voluntarily."

"And your place in history?" Mirage walked around, absolutely silent, to better see Jazz's smallest movements, though he kept out of grabbing range.

"Mech, I am _infamous_ ," Jazz said. "Thief turned commander. Head of Special Operations and Third in Command of the Autobots. Bane of Decepticons. Notorious prankster of Autobots. Basically I turned voyeurism into a career. And I like to blow things up."

"And Prowl's place in history?" Mirage asked, carefully indifferent.

"Trusted right hand man of Optimus Prime," Jazz said. "Second in Command of the Autobots. The finest tactician Cybertron ever produced. One of the few pre-progs who was able to adjust to a new function. Despite all that, he's probably most famously known for being one of the unlucky mechs present when Starscream remembered how to use his targeting system for the first time in millennia." The last part was a sharp, clear warning that Mirage had better not press the question of Jazz's lost mate.

"He was everything to you," the noble said simply. "What is our Prowl to you?"

"Still figuring it out," Jazz said. "Relief. Fun. Understanding. Something I can't turn away from. A gift. A curse. A blessing."

"What is this city to you?" Mirage got to the real point of his visit.

Jazz cocked his head at the noble, debating how to answer for a few moments, then decided to go with the stark truth. "The place I need to fit into to stay near Prowl." 

Mirage gave a small flick of shoulder armor in understanding, the strongest reaction he'd given so far. "All citizens must work for their energon and quarters, their right to be a citizen. It is how we have succeeded. What will you do for the city, for your right to remain?"

"I hear there's an opening for a brothel owner," Jazz said with a grin. 

Mirage gave a huff that badly concealed a short laugh. "Somehow I do not believe that would be agreed to, given how many regular customers are now wondering if you're going to go after them."

Jazz's grin widened at the first remotely friendly reaction from the other mech. "Shame. I'd kick _ass_ at that. But I guess I'm good at scarin' folks into good behavior. I'm good at seein' things I'm not supposed to. I'd be even better here, since you're all _giants_ with a million places to hide. You got any openings?" 

"Yes," Mirage turned serious. "However the first requirement is that I must _trust_ you. Comms and the ability to plug in for data transfer are also needed." He regarded the boxy, smooth plated black and white mech on the berth evenly. "However, if you are as social as you seem to be, a proper _quality_ nightclub is lacking."

"'Raj, baby," Jazz said with a warm purr in his engines. "Who says I can't do both? It's a perfect front for anything. I'd just hafta get most of this planet to stop hating me for jumpin' poor defenseless Prowl first."

Mirage gave another huff with an ill-concealed smile tugging at his scowl. "I would concern myself with surviving Sideswipe first. He is an important mech for a frontliner, and he will not stop hating you for having Prowl. The rest will go back to their lives and you will fade from their focus. Particularly if you decide not to look so strange." He paused and regarded this stranger that wasn't quite a stranger. "Though if you know how to distill a good high grade, you will be forgiven much faster by most."

"One of the few things I _don't_ know how to do," Jazz said. He sat up and crossed his legs, holding onto his ankles and leaning forward. "What _is_ with Sideswipe? Prowl's clueless. Anything more than unrequited love goin' on there?"

"As far as I know, that is all it is," Mirage answered. "However when you mix desire, territorial warrior coding, the hope of having it returned and having that hope taken away, it is more than sufficient to drive even stable mecha to extreme actions. A mecha who believes he has nothing to lose is a mecha who does not respond to reason. I expect you understand that thought process better than many."

Jazz tilted his helm forward in agreement. "I'm watching out for him. I'll consider getting some frame mods. But for the record, you lot are the bizarre lookin' ones." 

"That, of course, is a matter of perspective," another tiny smile tugged at Mirage's lip plates. "You look quite organic for a mecha. Unnaturally so." He gave an indecipherable hum. "What is a pre-prog in your world?"

Jazz cocked his head. "We were created by organics," he said with a shrug, and noted the Mirage-subtle _horrified_ expression the statement generated and the far stronger inarticulate sound of denial. He thought about addressing it for a moment, then decided to just answer the question. "A pre-prog is a mecha built instead of kindled," he used his Cybertronian word for it, "Almost always as an adult frame, for a specific function, and then sparked to life by Vector Sigma. Far as I can tell it's kind of like the Allspark but far from the only source of life." 

Mirage scowled. "Under that definition, Sideswipe is a pre-prog for war. He was designed, built and sparked to hit the ground and roll right to the front lines. However, the term pre-prog here is an extreme insult. It refers to a frame that was so incapable of functioning that it was wiped, programmed to perform a simple function and locked in that state. Often other limitations are put in place. They really are sparked drones."

Jazz hummed thoughtfully. "As I understand it, by my definition, every single one of you is technically a pre-prog. I didn't know it was an insult. I could use _pre-prog_ instead," he offered, switching to his native language.

Mirage was silent for a long time, processing what had been said and implied. "We have no pre-installed coding before we are brought to life. No pre-programming. Yes, using your own language would work, or simply describe him as a sparked mecha, if the pre-programmed nature is not critical to understanding his existence."

"It is, but without the context of the society surrounding it, the descriptor is worthless," Jazz said, frustrated by the fact. "It means he faced every disadvantage. It means his spark was as strong as any Prime's. He had to _will_ himself forward." An irritated x-vent. "Though in the end it doesn't matter. No one here knew him. No one here will ever have a reason to care."

"No one but you," Mirage pointed out. "So long as you remember, he will not be forgotten."

"Always a good line," Jazz said. "What's it mean, to remember someone in a universe where they never existed? Is that insanity?"

Mirage considered him and thought about it. "It is no more insanity than for me to remember my Intended, a mecha whose clade no one still functioning even knew of, of whom there are no physical records, nothing to prove he existed beyond my word and my memories. If it is insanity, it is one I accept as I valued him while he lived. Some prefer to forget and move on. I prefer to honor what was lost by remembering it, even if by law I can no longer practice what I was created to be."

Jazz nodded once in acknowledgement of a shared perspective, the motion smooth and practiced. "I think we understand one another, or could, given time," he said.

"I would like to take that time," Mirage said simply before turning to leave. "You could become as valued as Prowl. In time."

"Maybe not _that_ valuable," Jazz said with a grin, lifting his hand in farewell as the spy slipped away. He waited until he heard the door closing before laying back on the berth, looking up at the ceiling again, once more lost in thought. It was another half joor before the door slid open again, and Jazz heard the light but distinctive sound of Prowl's steps. 

"Had a visitor," he said, only his head turning as Prowl entered the room.

"So Metroplex alerted me," Prowl nodded, a movement that was becoming more natural the longer he was around Jazz. "What did Mirage want?"

"I think when you cut away the fat it came down to, 'Hurt Prowl and I will end you,'" Jazz said. "Either that or a job offer. It was hard to tell. I think both."

"He must think fairly highly of you already to find you concerning enough to approach," Prowl actually purred softly as he sat on the berth and leaned in to give Jazz a kiss. It was still awkward, and Prowl's complex lip plates caught on Jazz's dermal layer too often, but he was trying, and Jazz showed his appreciation of that every chance he got.

"Someone wants his circuits blown," he purred when Prowl pulled away.

"Perhaps," Prowl's engine's hard rev belied his mellow tone. "Or perhaps I wish to blow yours."

"No reason we can't accomplish both," Jazz said, tugging Prowl to settle over him, his hands already moving the well-mapped spans of Prowl's frame. This was the easy part for them, enticing pleasure from the spark that felt like a lost mate. Everything _else_ was the tricky bit. They were more than happy to do the easy parts for now. 

"Agreed," Prowl moaned and licked along Jazz's throat as his frame responded rapidly to the enticing touch and spark resonance he loved so much against him.

Jazz's head tilted back for him and the smaller mech shivered as his hands went to Prowl's neck, teasing and stroking, slowly working his way down from there to Prowl's chest. His hips lifted up off the berth, nudging against Prowl's frame. Without hesitation Prowl's hand slide between them to stroke the spike cover with a familiar pattern that always made Jazz moan and slide it open.

This time, instead of that, Jazz abruptly changed the angle of his hips, cocking them up and causing Prowl's hand to move between his legs, over the spot that had made Jazz jump away the only other time he'd touched it. 

"Never got curious about this?" Jazz asked.

"No," Prowl admitted, surprised even as he realized he shouldn't be that Jazz would eventually want attention to the companion part to his spike. Still, he gave that cover the same stroking rub as he did the other, a best guess it would respond much the same. It did, slipping away immediately with the moan that Prowl had come to crave accompanying it. 

"It might be ... weird," Jazz warned through his shivers. "If it's too weird I know how to scratch that itch on my own."

"Understood." Prowl's fingers slid down to touch, not sure what to expect, exactly, but calculating that it would be an opening about the size of the fully pressurized spike. "I will need some guidance."

Jazz nodded in understanding. "It's called a **valve** ," he said with a quiet moan. "Outside rim has **platelets** on it, they're sensitive, flexible. The inner sensors respond best to pressure and friction and heat ... but anything that isn't damaging will register as pleasure. It stretches and contracts, it stretches farther than you think it will. There's lubricant--helps avoid friction damage from a **spike** \--that will be messier than you're used to."

"My claws won't damage you?" Prowl's concern went to possible injury while he rubbed around the entrance, the platelets ruffling under and around carefully curled fingers.

"They might," Jazz said, pressing up into the touch. "Lining's tougher than you think. It'll heal if you do."

That he _could_ do damage made Prowl wary, but Jazz wanted, and he didn't have it in himself to deny Jazz, not even this Jazz. Carefully he transformed the tips of his fingers to be as blunt as possible and pressed two into the opening that was slick with lubricant and hot from Jazz's frame. Even though he'd never seen this kind of interfacing, he'd overloaded Jazz's spike often enough to have a reasonable idea of what the valve would be expecting for thickness, movement and pace.

Jazz hissed and tensed, rolling into it, different from anything he'd ever felt before. The fingers were sharp with all the tiny plates involved, they scraped at the lining, but just having _some_ part of Prowl inside him again was intensely, incredibly erotic all on its own. "Isn't perfect," he gasped. "But it's good."

"Good," Prowl relaxed some as he shifted upright to give himself a bit more control. He pressed his fingers forward until his hand stopped the process, then pulled out just as carefully. "Is this valve meant for a spike similar in size to your own?"

"Mhmm," Jazz hummed as he let his hands fall down to settle at his sides, all his attention focused on his valve. "It can take bigger. Smaller. They're _very_ flexible," he purred, squirming into Prowl's slow, careful thrust.

"Would a third finger feel _better?_ " Prowl asked patiently as he put the lubricant seeping into every joint and coating every cable and wire of his fingers out of his processor. He could deal with the fluid Jazz expelled from his spike, he could deal with this. Though something to encase his fingers would definitely be a top priority now.

Jazz had to force himself to stop and think about the question and his answer. "Yes," he finally managed, pushing his thighs apart to offer Prowl more room. "Thank you--feels _really_ good," he moaned.

"Good," Prowl shivered at the pleasure rolling off his lover as he pulled almost all the way out to press a third finger against the other two and pressed back in, careful that the tightness he felt was something desirable to Jazz.

The trill he got in answer reassured him on that point and he set a push-pull rhythm that had Jazz pushing back against him, back arched, hands grabbing at the berth. 

" **Prowl,** " Jazz moaned, his true mate's designation.

"Beautiful," Prowl murmured, watching the bliss spread across Jazz's frame as he did something so simple as thrust his fingers along the short path again and again. He could feel the lining squeezing and cycling around him, rippling contractions that moved up and down the passage that he could well imagine would be ecstasy for the kind of sensitivity he'd observed in the spike. He quickened the pace and spread his fingers carefully out until the pitch of Jazz's voice went up. 

Jazz overloaded quickly after that, shouting as he did. The valve rippled and spasmed around his fingers, clamping in down around them and squeezing tightly as the highly conductive lubricant transmitted zaps strong enough to tweak the smallest motors in his fingers and make his entire arm tingle. With the pressure Prowl froze, allowing his fingers to be pressed tightly together. He only relaxed when Jazz did and gradually pulled his fingers free.

He was going to need more than a washrag to clean his hand, but it was a start. Some kind of sleeve to protect them was definitely a high priority. Jazz enjoyed it too much not to do it often.

Jazz slowly relaxed back down onto the berth, engines running at a warm, solid purr. "Not too weird?"

"Not too weird," Prowl assured him. "Though I do need to get the lubricant out of my fingers now," he apologized as he stood. "I believe I've seen Ratchet use something that would make this easier to clean up."

"Mmkay," Jazz hummed, rolling onto his side, arching his back and stretching his arms up over his head, fingertips sinking into the padding. He watched Prowl with a lazy grin. "Anything to get that again."

"That will not be a problem," Prowl said before disappearing into the washrack to clean his fingers of the slippery substance.


	8. Citizen Jazz

"Well, Jazz, it looks like your paperwork is all in order," Optimus said as he skimmed through the legal documents needed to officiate the citizenship request. He glanced up at the smaller mech. "How's your Cybertronian coming along?" he asked, switching to that language.

"Very well," Jazz said, answering in the same. "The best way to learn a language is to be immersed in it."

Optimus nodded, signing off at the bottom of the document. "There is a grace period, of course, and you will need to find an occupation of some kind. Volunteering is always a good route--construction and medical always need hands--or you could seek out something more suited to your skills."

"Like working for Mirage," Jazz said.

Optimus nodded. "He has mentioned it a few times. Your systems, though..." He shook his head. 

"I'll find something," Jazz said. 

"I know you will," Optimus said, then looked at Prowl. "He's officially not in your custody anymore."

"Thank you, Sir," Prowl inclined his helm, then looked down at his lover and continued in Cybertronian. "I believe we have a conversation due that is best had in private."

"Agreed," Jazz said, then looked back at Optimus. "I can get a bank account, apply for loans, everything?" 

"Everything," Optimus said, nodding. "It's a small population--you should be able to find your way around quickly." 

"I'm sure of it," Jazz said, reaching back for Prowl. They both nodded their farewell to the Prime and made their way back to Prowl's quarters and a conversation they'd both put off for as long as possible.

"As a citizen, you are entitled to quarters and an energon ration based on your frame's needs," Prowl began when the door to his quarters closed behind them. "As a citizen, you can survive with doing very little, though I expect you could not manage that for long."

"I don't do relaxation," Jazz agreed. "Go a bit stir crazy. I'll figure out something." He tossed Prowl a grin. "I'm a charmer, someone will hire me."

"Of that, I have no doubt," Prowl deadpanned perfectly as he sat in the chair designed for his frame in the entry/living room. "Have you found any options that appeal to you yet?"

"Gonna look around," Jazz said, sidling over and climbing up into Prowl's lap. "So let's be straight. Do I really need to find another place to recharge?"

"Need to, no," Prowl looked down at him, then lifted his hands to stroke along Jazz's back and sides. "But you are no longer required to remain with me."

Jazz purred and squirmed under the touch. "Yeah but come on. What are the chances I ever stay somewhere else?" He tilted his head back to look up at Prowl. "Would you ever _want_ me to? I wouldn't want me to."

Prowl shivered faintly. "No, I do not wish you to, but you are not _mine_ either. I would not have you remain because you believed you should, or felt that you needed to."

"Look," Jazz said, pressing his mouth to Prowl's chest and licking, reveling in the way Prowl moaned, revved and pressed into the contact. "Feeling like I _should_ do something has never been good motivation. I do things because I _want_ to. So don't worry about pressuring me. But just so we're on the same page," he looked back up, "What we're doing isn't _something_. It's fragging."

"Comfort," Prowl said as his ventilations resumed. "Taking a little pleasure that's been offered to make existence a bit more tolerable."

"Exactly," Jazz said, settling himself down into Prowl's lap, reaching up for his shoulders and snaking their frames together, his pelvis rubbing against Prowl's in what would have been a seductive rub against his partner's interface covers if he had any. "You feel like Prowl. I can shut my vision off and pretend you're Prowl. But you're not Prowl. Not _my_ Prowl. But you _feel_ good. _This_ feels good. Makes living bearable, even enjoyable."

"Yes," Prowl charged and moaned, pressing shamelessly into the contact. "You feel good. I miss feeling good." He focused and tipped his helm forward to claim a kiss that was becoming reasonably skilled. "I make no claim to you other than what we've agreed on."

"Same for you," Jazz said, and lowered his head back down. "This is addictive you know. It isn't even objectively great fragging and it's addictive." 

"I know," Prowl shivered and slid a hand between them to rub his fingers along Jazz's spike cover. "It's your field, your spark frequency. Feels so good."

"Mmhmm," Jazz hummed, and teased his way up and down the seam in the middle of Prowl's chest. "So we're agreed then. No point in me finding another place to recharge." 

"Good," Prowl continued to tease the spike cover as his armor folded back, a wordless request for Jazz to caress his spark and chamber.

Jazz dipped his head down to run his glossa across the crystal. His spike cover retracted, the tip came into Prowl's fingers. "Glad that's settled," he purred. "Now for more important things."

* * *

Jazz finally got out of Prowl's quarters when his lover was also forced to leave to resume something like a normal work schedule. Well aware that Metroplex was watching him, he explored the inner limits of the city, mapping and observing the massive structure. Most citizens worked in engineering, manufacturing, energon-production, and other industrial functions, but there was a small and growing arts and luxury community. It was strange to walk around them and know that their society was limited, that these were the last of his kind and always going to be. It was so small the work joors were even rotated between businesses so that something was always open for the mecha who weren't working. 

Jazz quickly came to agree with Mirage's assessment about the lack of a more refined nightlife. There were bars with loud, pounding music and unflavored, potent high grade--something that a highly disproportionate amount of the population seemed to partake in--but something quiet, with more of a _jazzy_ feeling to it, with emphasis on flavorings instead of charge, was missing entirely. 

So, step one was going to be finding a high grade supplier. Jazz considered his options and ducked into the closest open bar, a plan coming together in his processors. A quick chat, some grins, ignoring all the stares at his frame, and he left with more ideas than he'd walked in with. 

"What's a good place to hang?" he asked out loud to no one.

"Many mecha enjoy the racetrack just outside my walls," Metroplex's booming voice seemed to center on him, barely noticed by those walking by.

Jazz tilted his head in acknowledgement and thanks, lifted two fingers to his helm in a casual salute, and headed that way. "Anyone following me?" he asked when he was near the walls. 

There was no answer, but Jazz wouldn't have expected one. At least not from any of the Ops mecha. Mirage he'd never see. The others were too good to give themselves up this easily, and Metroplex was no doubt under orders not to rat them out.

He shrugged--it had been worth a try--and transformed to drive to the tracks and scope the area out. It turned out to be both familiar and depressingly _small_. It was nice that it was a classically Praxian design with some elements from Iacon, Kaon and Crystal City ones rather than the wild loops and massive layout that Velocitron favored. They had the space for it, that was sure, but it seemed the bulk of the survivors preferred the simple oval track with stands all around. It was very Earth-like, even if this design predated the existence of Earth as a viable planet, much less the human culture that designed the amphitheater.

It was oddly and depressingly familiar and Jazz took a moment of standing at the entryway looking around, remembering time spent on Earth with Prowl on similar tracks. It made his spark throb, his frame ache, and all he wanted to do was turn around and run back into the city to find Prowl and lose himself in that field and forget about all of it. 

But he didn't. He walked into the tracks--entrance was free, but there were energon snacks, fuel mixes for credits, which he didn't have--and found himself in the open lane, warming up his engines. 

The listed rules in the entryway said there were rotating open joors and race joors, and he was considering putting his name in for the next race. In the end, he decided why the Pit not, he wanted to see how his alt mode stood up against these. He knew from experience that in a panic he could out-race at least some of them, but he'd already seen enough to know that Riptide didn't have a high-speed alt.

Here though, it was a concentration of higher-end, higher speed alts. If he'd continued to update his alt mode like most would, he wouldn't look nearly as out of place, even if he'd stuck to the same producer and line. The last time he'd checked out the Porsche Martini Racer it had looked a lot more like Mirage's alt than anything that could pass for street legal.

Still, win or lose, it would feel good to cut loose and just _race_. He didn't have the need for it that some did, but he did love the rush.

It brought back so many memories of Earth, and while they hurt, for the first time in so long, the pain felt sharp and clear instead of suffocating and festering. Cold air over his heated frame felt amazing, cleansing. Some of the other race models were lapping him, especially the ones who hadn't stayed with their Earth alts and instead took advantage of the latest in streamlining technology. But he was holding his own with the pack. 

In the end, he came in somewhere in the middle, venting heat out as he pulled into the slow-down lane and transformed with a diving roll in a small display of his long-vaunted style.

"Better than I'd expect for a frame like that," someone said with a pat on his back. "No racing alt, but not bad for the rest of us."

"Thanks," Jazz gave him a bright smile. Reflex IDed the stranger as Sandroller and he worked in construction, but without the ability to hack the database, he only knew as much as he'd seen on the basic profiles. Prowl hadn't been inclined to give him anything more than images, designations and functions so far, but at least he knew the basics of all 1,679 other mecha on the planet.

"Jazz, right? The new mech," Sandroller asked.

"Yeah, that's me," Jazz said, gesturing to his frame. "What gave it away?"

"Place this small? I haven't seen you before," he chuckled. "Heard plenty though. Maybe you can keep our resident killjoy otherwise occupied."

"I'm doing my best," Jazz said, unashamed of that. "What makes him a killjoy?"

Sandroller and a few others made startled sounds.

"That mech is all law and order, no looking the other way even if no one is getting hurt, doesn't care if the law makes sense," somebody huffed.

"Yeah, he patrols the entire city _every night_ just looking for somebody to hassle," someone else added. "Won't even let a speeder go."

"Seriously, he needs to get 'faced to settle him down."

"Won't accept any offers he gets for it."

"Didn't even smile when he won races." Sandroller shook his helm.

"He races?" Jazz said with a curious trill.

"Used to, long time ago." 

"So hopefully with you he'll calm down some," another agreed. "I mean, assuming you still _are_." 

"Are?" Jazz asked innocently. 

"Getting him laid," Sandroller said. "Small town, word spreads fast." 

"If I understand Prowl in the slightest, and believe me I have some experience," Jazz said, "Getting regularly laid does nothing to fix all of that. Unless any of you knew him when he was with Jazz."

There was a general shaking of helms.

"I did, but it was a _long_ time ago," one of the race-frames said from the outside of the group. "Wasn't any different then. I'd run pace for the Enforcers from time to time in Praxus before the war. Prowl was a shift Captain, but he never chased me. Word was that he was broken that way. That he couldn't, rather than wouldn't. But Jazz just _exuded_ desire. Can't imagine he'd have stayed with a mech who couldn't get him crackling."

"Yeah, but he could have gotten it from anybody," a metalworker designated Firework shrugged. "Jazz was seduction given a frame. Seriously, he rubbed circuits with _Soundwave_."

General rumbles of disbelief came at that.

"Then don't believe me. Doesn't change what I can't unsee."

Jazz nodded slowly, absorbing that information. "Then I doubt I can help you all," he said with a grin and a shrug. "I expect he will continue to be a killjoy no matter what I do."

"You could try to keep him _home_ at night," Sandroller suggested, even as the group dispersed a bit. "Give him something better to do than hassle us."

"Got no control over that mech," Jazz said, shaking his head.

Sandroller flicked his armor in understanding, his field expressing no ill-feelings. "It's pretty well accepted that not even Prime does. Said that Prowl ran the army with Jazz." He paused and regarded Jazz. "It kinda showed when they were on Earth too. First time Prime had to actually _lead_ without his directors. Even the official history says enough to tell you how well that went," he said quietly, before heading off for a snack.

Jazz flicked his armor in farewell. Yes, he'd read enough of Earth's history to understand that. Within orns of arriving an agent had been taken and tortured--the tortured part had been left out but Jazz understood humans--and it had been allowed under this Prime's same non interference policy that his own had enforced. 

A glanced at the time showed that he still had several joors before Prowl returned, but with most of the city explored and mapped, at least on a surface level, he decided to return to Prowl's quarters to wait out the rest of the absence.

* * *

Taking out a loan had been extremely simple, even with no credit and no collateral on this planet--much less in this entire universe--after Prowl and Prime had both offered to be co-signers. He'd purchased an empty lot, made friends with a high grade supplier, and scoped the city for the best additives. Decorations, music, atmosphere had come next, and now all he needed were customers, so here was at the track, chatting up mecha and spreading some word of mouth around. Not that there was anyone that wasn't fully aware of what was going on, at least in basic terms. Everyone knew he was building a new drinking spot. Only a few seemed to realize that it wasn't going to be a bar.

Of those few, it was the former SpecOps mecha and a few former officers that seemed most excited. Prime, Prowl and Mirage were expected. Bumblebee wasn't much of a surprise. Some of the others, some designations he knew had been Cons in his universe, were also very excited to have a less rowdy place to relax.

The real not-surprise was that Blaster and Boomer, another host that Jazz would have pegged for Blaster's creation back home, both were eager for DJ time.

Simply by offering what enough mecha wanted he was already doing well. It would never become _the_ hangout in Narali, but it was likely to earn him a reasonable income and some friends.

A flash of silver on the track drew Jazz's attention to the racer in the lead and he immediately IDed it as Sideswipe. He frowned slightly and resettled his armor, all of his attention sharpening on the mech. Sideswipe had been a constant, glowering shadow for his stay here, and it had only gotten worse since he'd started making friends within the community. 

Instead of leaving, Jazz decided to make himself available in a secluded part of the stands. He knew there was no way the silver mech wasn't watching him as he disappeared from view. The silver skater was no Ops mech, but he was a finely tuned hunter-killer.

It didn't take long for the _much_ taller mech to grab Jazz's shoulder, engine growling and field spiky with unresolved anger.

"Whoa, mech," Jazz said with a soothing purr. "What rusted in _your_ energon?"

"You stay away from _my_ charge," Sideswipe snarled at him, making good use of the extra sixty percent height advantage he had even if his mass wasn't much different. That his wrist blades, one of them already fully extended, were nearly as long as Jazz was tall was very intentionally intimidating.

" _Your_ charge," Jazz repeated, purposefully oblivious. "Sorry, which one is your charge again?"

"Prowl," Sideswipe growled, his grip tightening to the point of causing pain and ready to pick Jazz up bodily. "Stay away from him."

Jazz fought back the cringe, monitoring his HUD for damage. "I can try," he said, "But I'm not sure it would do much good. He'd just hunt me down."

"You manage it or I'll make sure he'll never find you. Understood?" Sideswipe hissed, already at the end of his patience and needing to _act_.

Minor armor damage. That was all he needed. Jazz jumped, grabbed onto Sideswipe's arm, swung up and kicked his pedes under the silver mech's chin, blades shooting out from his heels and slipping perfectly between the cables without doing any damage. "Let go of me."

He felt the shock ripple through the silver mech, then even deeper hatred as he let go. "You're just like _him_."

"I'll take it as a compliment," Jazz said with a grin, carefully dislodging his pedes and lowering himself back down to the ground, releasing Sideswipe's arm. "Hey, is that why you have the same shade finish as he did? He a hero of yours?"

"It's not, coward." Sideswipe snapped. "I am _not_ that freak's color."

"You're pretty close," Jazz shrugged. "Why, again, do you want me away from Prowl? It might help if I knew."

The warrior was brisling now, nearly ready to snap. "He was _finally_ starting to recover when you showed up. Now he's regressed all the way to Earth." A sharp clawed finger tapped Jazz's nose. "If you string him along much more he won't recover again. I'm not going to let you hurt him any more than you have."

"Look, I don't know what your helm damage is," Jazz said, batting the hand away, "But one, I'm not stringing him along. Two, he's your superior, not your charge. Three, for the love of Primus, everyone knows how you feel _except_ Prowl, would you just go for it already?"

"I was charged with protecting him," Sideswipe snapped as one arm-blade made an impossible fast move to slice Jazz in half that the mech only barely managed to duck. " _He is my responsibility_ and _you_ are hurting him."

"Sides, mech, I'm really not," Jazz said as he straightened back up. "I don't mind sharing him. But I am _not_ giving him up. I will _kill you_ if you try to make me."

An ugly grin crossed the silver mech's hard features, one that reminded Jazz more than slightly of Sunstreaker at his worst mixed with Sideswipe plotting. "Then we understand what is at stake." Both long, heavy arm blades snapped back and up, sheathed, if there was such a thing for the weapons and Sideswipe was gone.

Jazz's visor flickered in surprise, then he shrugged, and headed back down to the track like the conversation had never happened. But in his processors, Sideswipe was quietly moved to an active threat level, of the highest risk.

* * *

The chime on the door surprised Prowl, but a moment later Metroplex informed him that it was Sideswipe and he signaled to let it open for the warrior. 

Sideswipe skated in with a dark scowl. "He isn't good for you," he blurted out. 

Prowl focused on the taller mech. "I would disagree."

"Oh yeah?" Sideswipe said. "You were doing _so well_ before he showed up! He doesn't even care about you!"

Prowl set his datapad down and gave Sideswipe his complete focus. "While I am not inclined to disagree with you, what makes you say it?"

Sideswipe opened his mouth to answer before what Prowl had said really registered, then once it had, closed it again. "...Wait. You don't disagree with that?"

"No. Jazz and I have an understanding of what we are doing and what we have. Emotional attachment is not part of it," Prowl answered simply.

"Oh," Sideswipe said, then frowned. "He said he doesn't mind _sharing_ you. Like you're a thing that can be shared."

"Sideswipe, that statement was simply not trying to claim an exclusive relationship with me. He likely could have phrased it better, but I expect he was trying to taunt you given how aggressive you are towards him." Prowl paused. "Why do you dislike him so much?"

Sideswipe crossed his arms over his chest and scowled with an unhappy ruffling of his armor. "He shows up out of nowhere and starts _fawning_ over you and that's all it takes? I've been here for _vorns_ and you still don't notice me!"

Prowl twitched. "You have been ... interested ... in me?"

"Primus," Sideswipe said, rubbing at his face with one hand. "You _are_ the only mech that doesn't know. Look, I've been doing _everything_ I can to get you to notice me since I _met_ you, and now I have to watch this little upstart waltz right into _my_ territory and make you slide downhill again?"

"His spark frequency and strength are an exact match to Jazz. He _feels_ like Jazz," Prowl couldn't hide the love and longing there as he sang his lost mate's designation, though he did try to mute it a bit out of respect for the mech with him. "I am ... sorry ... that you have been unanswered for so long, Sideswipe. Jazz is the only one who has sparked any desire in me."

"But he _isn't_ Jazz!" Sideswipe said with a frustrated rev. "He doesn't even care about you the way Jazz did!"

"No, he does not," Prowl agreed. "I do not care for him as I did Jazz either. As he rather aptly phrased it, it is addictive mutual comfort. Nothing more. What appeal do I have to you, though?"

Sideswipe turned his head away, glaring at the wall. "You're just ... _Prowl_ ," he said. "Kick aft and take names Prowl." He looked back. "What did Jazz do that you noticed _him_ if you haven't noticed anyone else?"

There was a flush of quickly controlled embarrassment in Prowl's field. "He ... well...." he took a moment to settle himself and met Sideswipe's ever more curious gaze. "He fondled me." His short sensor wings twitched in an unconscious show of where. "Right in my office. During an interview."

Sideswipe stared for a moment, then shrugged. "That's one way to get someone's attention," he said. "How'd he keep it?"

"He could always manage to make me see that there was more to living than my function," Prowl said softly. "Even when his distractions didn't go well, he could always, somehow, get me to enjoy myself. Yet when it was time to work and he saw it, he worked as hard and diligently as anyone I knew."

Sideswipe huffed, and the way his armor ruffled showed he had a completely different opinion of the way Jazz had gone about his distractions. "So ... no one other than Jazz? _Ever?_ "

"Not willingly," Prowl answered, giving a simple truth they both understood all too well. Even VIP officers were not immune to abuses at enemy hands; they just tended to survive them longer.

Sideswipe just nodded. "I'll keep that in mind," he said.

"Is there anything else you wish to bring up?" Prowl asked.

"No," Sideswipe shrugged with his armor. "I still don't think he's good for you _and_ he threatened to kill me but whatever if you want to be with him it's your choice."

"By any chance did that threat coincide with something comparable on your part?" Prowl asked knowingly, though the harmonics were more of tolerant amusement than the ire it should have produced.

"I was more subtle about it," Sideswipe growled.

"I do not doubt it," Prowl offered, though he actually meant it. Jazz could take a subtle hint. He was unlikely to believe Sideswipe could. "If anything happens to you, he will be my primary suspect." In this, his tone went cold and hard, and Sideswipe knew right down to his spark's core that he would investigate it and he would have his lover executed if that was what the law demanded.

"I know," Sideswipe said, and his subharmonics said that he knew it without doubt, and that it was one of the things he admired most about the other mech. "I'll see ya around Prowl."

"Not as often as I see you," Prowl said in parting, something that could comfort or disturb, but most former Autobots found comforting.

* * *

By the time Prowl was done with his work and able to return to his quarters Jazz was already there waiting, perched on the edge of the berth, arms looped around his knees and watching the door. It was not a normal posture for the lively mech and Prowl instantly went on alert.

"Jazz?" An open-ended prompt allowing the mech to take it where he wished.

Jazz cocked his head. "Did Sideswipe tattle on me?"

"He did come speak to me, though he did not register a complaint," Prowl answered. "Care to tell me your side?"

Jazz shrugged, crooking a finger at Prowl, asking for the other mech to join him on the berth. "He cornered me, gave me the 'or no one will ever find your body' speech, I waited until I registered damage from his grip and then gave him the same speech back."

"I am going to ask you nicely not to put me in the position of having to prosecute you for murder," Prowl said quietly as he sat down. "I do not enjoy punishing people."

"Mech," Jazz said, grinning as he climbed up against Prowl, purring and rubbing their frames together, trailing his glossa over the collar. "You wouldn't be able to prosecute me, I wouldn't leave any evidence for you."

Prowl shivered, thoroughly distracted but not so completely that he missed the challenge and it draw a low rev from his engine. "I've caught my Jazz. I can catch you."

"Mmhmm," Jazz hummed, making his way up Prowl's neck. "I think I hear a challenge in there."

Prowl's field went cold and he pulled Jazz away to meet optics. "Not if you wish to continue to enjoy my company, or your club. I do not look the other way."

"Oh, for--" Jazz said, rolling his optics behind his visor. "I'm not gonna kill 'im. Really? You think I'd play a game with that?"

"It would not be the first time a SpecOps agent did. It is something I know Jazz did among Decepticons, Neutrals and unfriendly aliens," Prowl settled, but he was still serious. "Lesser crimes are likely to cost you everything as well, until you have someone to run your club while you are away."

"Well, Decepticons, Neutrals, and unfriendly aliens are a different story entirely," Jazz said, "But only when there's an active war. But if it makes you feel better, I promise that I will not make a game out of killing anyone on this planet, nor will I kill anyone on this planet without a damn good reason. One that I would be able to hold up truthfully and as a full defense in a court of law. Good?"

"And the rest of our laws?" Prowl asked, though his field spoke clearly of being relieved to get as much as he had.

"Yeah yeah, those too," Jazz said, huffing. "You are _just_ like Prowl in all the most annoying ways."

"I am what I am," Prowl's armor gave a shrug. "I suspect you are just like Jazz is the most annoying, and dangerous, of ways. Now, what was the point of prodding Sideswipe into hitting me upside the helm that he's desired me since the third vorn of the war?"

"Wow, since the third vorn?" Jazz asked, grinning. "That's an old flame. Self-preservation, mostly. He's been stalking me since I got here and he's much bigger with less self-control. I haven't spent a lifetime fighting your frame styles and one bad judgment call could end with me doing a shish kabob impression. And it was kind of pathetic watching him mope after you." 

Prowl had to scramble to translate Jazz-speak into regular language, then he huffed in a familiar mixture of good humor and annoyance. "He is likely to continue to do so. He is quite convinced you are a detriment to my health."

"Crazy mech," Jazz said. "I told him I don't mind sharing if he thinks he can do a better job."

"Yes, except that it does not change that _I_ have never responded to anyone other than Jazz ... and you." Prowl sighed. "This is likely to become ugly before it settles. Sideswipe has too few outlets already."

Jazz shrugged and squirmed his way out of Prowl's hands to press back up against him. "But it _will_ settle, one way or another," he said, licking back up Prowl's chest. "So about that challenge..."

"If I tell you not to start, will it stop you?" Prowl grumbled before catching Jazz's chin to pull him into a heated kiss.

Jazz hummed against him in deep pleasure. "You should know it would only encourage me," he purred. "I won't do anything illegal." 

"I also request you exclude any action with more than a twenty percent probability of hampering my ability to finish my work on time," Prowl requested evenly.

"Oh that hurts," Jazz said, sounding deeply wounded, snaking their frames together and pushing Prowl slightly, a request for him to lay back. Once he had Jazz crawled on top of him, straddling his chest. "I have some experience in Prowls, you know." He licked around the chest seams. "Work trumps _everything_. And I know I wouldn't get laid for a _vorn_ if I did something like that." 

"Not by myself at least," Prowl agreed with a low, hungry moan and unlocked his chest so it slid open smoothly. His pale blue spark gleamed brightly there, pulsing and flaring as it felt its mate so close. "So long as we understand the rules."

"Rules understood," Jazz said, and dipped his head.


	9. Passion Unfurling

Getting into Prowl's public office was one of the hardest things Jazz had ever had to do. He couldn't hack these systems--he couldn't even _connect_ to these systems--which meant that erasing security footage was out of the question. So was looping the cameras as a mask, even better than a straight wipe. Instead, he was left with figuring out the angles he'd need to be at to avoid being caught by them at all. 

_Not. Easy._

And this Prowl was even trickier to seduce in his office than his had been--Jazz allowed a sad, nostalgic smile as he remembered the indignant shock the first time he'd tried with his--but he'd managed it once, which had given him enough time to look around. He was crouched in the corner he'd figured would give him the best chance at success, wrapping decorative, translucent wire around his fingers and measuring the distance from him to the hanging abstract art he wanted to flip over and turn around.

Getting in had been amateurish and ungraceful by his standards--literally ducking behind a tankformer and getting in unseen while Prowl was still inside, hiding by slipping under the massive seat intended for the largest frames and going nearly into stasis as he waited for Prowl to leave. It had been a gamble, but he hadn't been noticed, which was a small miracle in and of itself.

"So we agreed, no helping," he said out loud.

"Affirmative," Metroplex rumbled back. "I will not tell him, and I will not aid you other than to not prevent you from acting."

Jazz nodded, then paused, then cursed. "Do the security cameras record sound?" 

"Answering that would be helping," Metroplex informed him. 

"Oh, come on," Jazz complained, but didn't stop in his work, even as he cursed himself. "That isn't helping, that's ... public knowledge? I'm at a disadvantage here."

"You will learn as all have," Metroplex told him evenly.

"Fussy cityformer," Jazz muttered under his breath. 

"I am a metrotitan," Metroplex corrected him.

Controlling a huff, Jazz finished off the last of his construction, then examined his extended appendage. His hope was that the wires were too small to be picked up by the camera, and that no light would glint off them as they moved. He was worried about them not having enough strength to pull, but if they didn't he'd figure something else out. 

He carefully lifted the entire contraption, hooks on the ends, and extended it out towards the hanging art. The bottom edge was easy to hook, and the wire held up to the force of pulling. They would not, however, lift. 

In the end, after some more finagling, Jazz had to settle for simply turning the piece over and using one of the wires to get it to stay in place, and then he slipped back under the desk to get to his former hiding place, and really, really hoped that someone big enough to hide behind came along soon.

* * *

Prowl returned from his meeting with the Prime over the latest expansions to the outer city, including one small club that was eagerly anticipated by a small but well-ranked contingent of the population and walked into his office. Reflex trained by Jazz and perfected in war that had saved him from dozens of close calls with assassins and traps, both dangerous and otherwise, made Prowl freeze with only one pede inside the room.

Something was off. He could _feel_ it.

What, though?

"Metroplex, is anyone in the office?"

"No one has entered or exited since you were last here," Metroplex said.

A cautious step into the office and Prowl was scanning all around, still wary and mildly paranoid about his safety despite the centuries of peace. His optics briefly landed on the painting, a formless collection of colored lines and swirls that Prime had given him. Supposedly it was so Prowl would have something pretty to look at while he worked. Prowl suspected it was because the blank walls disturbed the large mech after a century of peace. Despite the lack of a subject, Prowl knew the design.

At the moment, it was upside down.

"Metroplex, lock the door."

He heard the immediate cascading clicking of five large deadbolts moving into place, followed by the faint hum of the powerful electromagnets that would seal the door where it was.

"Jazz, come out and I will go easy on you," Prowl called out, his sensors at full strength as he sought out the spark signature he knew better than his own.

Silence replied, which was what Prowl had expected. Yet he knew that picture had been right side up when he left, so Jazz was still in the room. A careful stalking pattern to search with his field for the other eventually lead him to the largest chair, designed to hold the Prime, and sturdy enough for a tank-former. The field was barely there, obviously pulled in tight by its owner, but Prowl knew what that field felt like even when it was trying to hide.

With a suppressed snicker and flare of playfulness he hadn't felt in _ages_ Prowl made an easy leap to the seat and relaxed, stretching his senses and field to play along the frame below him, feeling out its location and arrangement. Without warning, he pulsed his field down, thrusting it deep and hard intro the mech under him. 

He felt the startled, reflexive shiver in Jazz's field as it pushed out into his before immediately pulling back. No sound, no movement.

So he thrust it down, deep into the other mech again, and again. Prowl continued his assault until he could feel the vibration of movement through the seat and hear the sound of metal moving against metal.

"Ready to come out now?" Prowl asked, completely flat voiced, even as he drove his field into Jazz again.

Nothing happened, except possible a heavier scrape of metal, so Prowl just shrugged to himself and kept pulsing, at this point curious to see if Jazz could even overload from field play. 

It took him close to ten kliks, but he finally heard a strangled, and quickly muffled, moan that made his engine rev. With a grin he focused on where he felt Jazz's spark chamber was and continued, alternating frequency and pulsing from a caress to a heavy drive that would saturate Jazz's systems with Prowl's energy.

Jazz went very quiet again but for the sound of his vents and Prowl was starting to consider changing tactics when he heard an ecstatic yell that got cut off with a thud, followed immediately by a curse in a language he didn't understand. He rolled forward to look under the chair and regarded the alien mech there with a rather bemused expression.

"I will give you credit for doing your best to hold out, even when you knew you had been caught, but you have now been caught," Prowl said simply, giving no hint to the intense arousal in his systems.

Jazz groaned, laying still for a moment with one hand on his spike, transfluid on his abdomen and chest, then struggled to push himself up on his other elbow. He gave Prowl a dazed-looking grin. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Yes, quite," Prowl replied, privately pleased to have gotten his lover that wound up. "Now would you kindly right the picture."

Jazz slumped back to the floor. "In a klik. I want a renegotiation." 

"About what?" Prowl ask, shifting to roll smoothly sideways to crouch in front of Jazz.

Jazz purred shamelessly at him for a few moments, his thumb swirling around the tip of his spike, noting that it did draw Prowl's attention. "First. I can't hack the camera systems, so you can't use the camera systems. No checking on security footage. It's more than fair because I still have to deal with all the rest of the security I can't hack and I can't demand that you leave all your favorite places unlocked and unarmed all the time." 

Prowl considered that demand, then nodded. "However, if you ever do become compatible enough to hack the system, I am allowed to use it."

"Agreed," Jazz said. "Second. _You_ ," he banged his fist on the ground to indicate he was now speaking to Metroplex, "What the Pit was that? 'No one has entered or exited since you were last here,' why not just _tell_ him I'm still here! If it's me, you're not allowed to answer him, he has to figure it out on his own. And that helps tell the difference between me and a security risk." 

"New response integrated," the metrotitan responded calmly. "You need to be clear in your instructions."

Before Jazz could form a retort, Prowl snickered.

He actually _snickered_.

Jazz shot him a _look_ , mostly to cover how much he wanted to jump the mech, but he suspected it came through in his field. "Third, and last. In order to win a round, you have to be able to tell the how and when, and have enough evidence to stand up in court. I'll tell you whether a guess is right or wrong. Otherwise it's a draw, unless you have no evidence against me whatsoever, and then I win." 

"Within a reasonable margin," Prowl insisted. "Reasonable being defined as knowing which shift an event occurred in. This happened during the joor I was gone."

"Yeah but how'd I get in?" Jazz purred, rolling over onto his front and crawling to him. "You can check security footage for this one, the rule wasn't in place yet."

Prowl paused as he began reviewing the security logs, beginning from when he left and working backwards. Jazz saw it when Prowl spotted him on the footage.

"You do sneak around well. Ultra Magnus will be mortified." Prowl allowed a trace of his amusement to curl through his field.

Jazz grinned, snaking his way into Prowl's lap, pressing their fronts together. "Always a fan of that response," he said, rubbing against his lover, rather effectively distracting him. Larger hands came up to hold him close and rub his back in what was quickly becoming an erotic stimulus for Jazz.

"For the how, I will need to physically investigate," Prowl rumbled, reluctant to part from his affectionate lover despite it being in the middle of his workday.

"Please tell me that involves a body cavity search," Jazz purred.

Prowl's vents caught at the implication, his processors unhelpfully supplying vivid memories of what Jazz looked and felt like when he had his fingers deep inside that valve.

"Yes," he groaned, low and hungry. He nudged Jazz to stand, then picked up the smaller mech and bent him over the chair they'd been sitting in front of. The distinctive sound of a surgical glove being pulled on to cover Prowl's fingers came next. "We'll start with this one," he pressed his fingers against the valve cover. "Open, or have it opened."

Jazz squirmed and as hard as he tried, couldn't keep the cover from snapping away under the lightest touch, not as charged up as he was, and _definitely_ not with being able to feel how charged up Prowl was. Ready, eager. "I hope you have a warrant," he moaned as his hips lifted up.

"I have all the authorization I need," Prowl teased him as hid fingers stroked over the lubricant soaked platelets. "Someone is eager."

"Nngh--this is abuse of authority," Jazz managed, his hips moving back in short, quick thrusts, trying to push back onto the teasing digits that stayed stubbornly outside.

"Are you going to report me?" Prowl managed to deadpan as he thrust three fingers deep into Jazz's valve in a single motion.

"No!" Jazz gasped, driving back into it. "No I'm gonna--keep this as leverage and--" His words cut off with a sharp keen as Prowl thrust forward again. "Oh-- _frag_ yes!"

The large mech behind him chuckled deeply as pleasure derailed all of Jazz's thoughts other than to increase that pleasure. "You spread your legs for every Enforcer, don't you?"

"Only good-looking officers," Jazz moaned, squirming back onto the fingers as they spread him wide, rubbed him deliciously and filled him with memories of a beloved spike that had once done the same.

"Mmm, flattery. It's almost a bribe," Prowl thrust his hand a bit harder. "Are you trying to bribe an officer of the law?"

"Ma- _ay!_ -be," Jazz moaned, voice catching on a hard drive. "What's it get me if I am?"

"I would have to _punish_ you," Prowl continued the harder, slower thrusts. "Bribing an officer is a crime."

"Then I'm _definitely_ trying to bribe you," Jazz gasped, his fingers sinking into the chair for leverage as his hips tried to meet each push at _just_ the right angle. "I'm sure we can--nnh--come to some arrangement..."

"You already owe me two hard overloads. Just what could you offer?" Prowl kept his voice level, almost scornful, but his field and actions spoke very differently.

Jazz had to stop and think, a process that was getting harder every klik. "I could promise not to report your unique method of conducting a search," he purred. "It'd only make all the other low-lives jealous. And overloads," he added in a moan, rapidly losing control over his charge.

"Tonight, you will overload me until I shut down," Prowl growled, trying to make it sound like a demand when they both knew Jazz would enjoy it deeply. He sped up the thrusting of his arm, pistoning his fingers inside his lover as hard and fast as he dared.

"D--de-- _deal!_ " Jazz cried, then his back arched as he screamed in overload, writhing on Prowl's fingers and clutching the chair like it was the only thing keeping him attached to the ground. 

Prowl matched the speed of his fingers to the waves of charge and pleasure perfectly, speeding up and slowly down as they peaked and ebbed, until finally, Jazz slumped forward, panting heavily. He turned a dazed look on Prowl. "You really did not strike me as the dirty talk type," he said with a lazy grin.

"I'm not," Prowl admitted as he withdrew his fingers gently, then carefully removed the glove, turning it inside out in the process before dropping it into the disposal for atomic recycling. "I thought you might be, given the role play setup."

"Mhmm," Jazz hummed, pulling a cloth to clean the dripping lubricant before any more could get onto the chair. He rolled back over, legs spread carelessly, grinning at Prowl. "It was appreciated, believe me," he said, with the pleasant surprise he'd felt ringing in his voice. He leaned forward, slipping back into the role as his voice dropped into a purr. "So, officer, find anything?"

"My painting is upside down, and 1.3 degrees off true," Prowl motioned to the object.

"That's the when and what, but how?" Jazz grinned, quite intent to stay where he was until his gyros stopped spinning from all the extra charge.

Prowl predictably stood and walked over to the artwork that looked rather out of place in his otherwise sterile office, now that he was reasonably confident it was not a trap, and began examining it. At first without touching, then stopped when he spotted the fine wire. "This is not part of the hanging mechanism, nor part of the art," he carefully unhooked the wire and held it up.

Jazz purred, very much enjoying himself. "Excellent sleuthing, officer. Do you have enough to make an arrest?"

"More than enough," Prowl said as he handed the wire to Jazz. "The round is mine."

"I went easy on ya," Jazz said, winding the wire back into an easy loop before tucking it into his subspace and crooking a finger at his lover. "You said something about one or two _hard_ overloads?"

"After my shift," Prowl said firmly, even as he walked over to give Jazz a passionate, yet chaste kiss. "I have work to do now."

Jazz pouted at him. "I can feel that charge from here," he said matter-of-factly.

"Yes, and I will utilize it until it dissipates," Prowl said simple as he let go of Jazz and walked to his desk. "Metroplex, if you would unlock the door, please. Jazz, you may stay for now, if you wish, but I have work to finish."

Jazz began working on ways to increase the effectiveness of his pout when an entrance request ping came through along with the shifting of deadbolts and the magnetic locks.

"My apologies," Metroplex said. "That request is approximately a breem old. I asked Ironhide to wait outside while you were engaged."

Prowl's armor flicked, startled, then he settled. "Thank you, Metroplex," he said before pinging the door open. "How may I help you, Ironhide?"

"Er," Ironhide said, stepping in, looking sideways at Jazz. "Jus' needed t' drop these off," he held up a stack of quarterly reports, then stopped pretending like he wasn't staring at the minibot-sized mech. "...Loud for such a little guy, inn'e?"

Jazz grinned unabashedly at him. "I try my best."

Prowl almost cringed. "Self-control is not one of his stronger traits when he wants something."

Ironhide peered at Jazz. "How do you even..." he began, then stopped himself, cleared out his vocalizer, and handed Prowl the reports. "Sir." 

Prowl accepted them. "Ironhide," he said, inclining his doorwings and helm in a professional acknowledgement of the other mech before the weapons specialist left. 

Jazz gave him a sheepish look. "...I'll just, be on my way then."

"Only if you wish," Prowl offered, knowing it for the first tentative step at becoming friends as well as lovers. He wasn't convinced he wanted to, or if it would work, but he knew if he did not try he would always wonder.

Jazz hummed and relaxed into the chair that was almost large enough to serve as a berth for him. "In a few kliks, then," he said, and settled in to watch Prowl work. It was a disorienting familiar thing to do, watching Prowl work. Back in the day he'd have either been helping or had his own pile of misery to deal with, but reports never seemed to be quite so miserable or take so long when he was in Prowl's office. It felt ... nice ... to be here again. 

* * *

Watching and waiting had never been two of Sideswipe's strongest qualities, but even he understood the advantage of strategizing and holding back until one had the advantage in a field before striking. 

Or in this case, groping. Prowl had said that Jazz was the only mech who had ever made his systems respond, but thinking on it, Sideswipe had started to wonder if any other mech had ever _tried_. 

He didn't want to do it in Prowl's office, that was too sterile and professional. He also didn't want to just grab the mech in a largely public place, because he knew that the quiet, private officer wouldn't appreciate it. So he was waiting for the right opportunity, be it stopping by Prowl's quarters or something else. 

It came along one afternoon when he wasn't expecting anything, when he made his way into Jazz's nightclub on a whim-- _only_ so he could see how poor business was--and found it almost entirely deserted except for Prowl sitting at the bar. A few other mecha were at a back table, and Jazz was perched up on the counter talking to Prowl. 

Perfect. Sideswipe made his way over and sat next to Prowl. "Hey," he said, grinning at him, and waved a hand at Jazz. "High grade, straight up, hot." 

Jazz nodded and jumped down, disappearing behind the counter.

"I did not expect this to be your type of establishment," Prowl graced Sideswipe with his attention.

"If I don't try new things I'll never know," Sideswipe said, and couldn't stop the bright grin that always accompanied Prowl acknowledging him. "What you're always saying, right?"

"Quite true," Prowl agreed. "There is little to lose and much to gain in most efforts."

"Right, exactly," Sideswipe said. "So here's the thing, keeping in mind that it's about trying something new," he leaned forward, one hand going to the side of Prowl's chest, just under his crimson vents, as the other went past his shoulder to run fingers up his doorwing, touching their helms together. "Have you ever wanted to try some _one_ new?"

Shock crashed through Prowl's field as his vents hitched sharply, almost quivering. Yellow optics brightened to the point of washing out the blue of Sideswipe's.

Then just as suddenly, Prowl began to relax into the touch and field against him. "I had not, until I learned you desired me."

Sideswipe's engines began to _purr_ as he realized that Prowl was responding. He was actually _responding_ to him. "Wow," he said, almost to himself, and dragged his thumb up, caressing sensors and seams and reveling in the shiver and flare of pleasure it created. "Looks like it isn't just him," he said, grinning hugely. "Listen, meet me later if you want to find out if someone else can _really_ blow your circuits."

"When, where?" Prowl asked as his optics dimmed and he actually leaned into the contact. Still shocked, but willing to follow this to find out where it led, and just a little bit eager for a _real_ interface after so painfully long.

"My place, any time I'm not on duty you feel like coming by," Sideswipe said, not even looking up when Jazz reappeared with his drink. "I'll make it a priority."

"In two joors, when the club becomes too active for me?" Prowl suggested, his voice a low rumble barely audible beyond Sideswipe.

"It's a date," Sideswipe said with a pleased, excited rumble from his engines. He took his energon without looking at Jazz. "I'll have an arsenic magma, too," he said, optics locked on Prowl. "You," he purred once Jazz had disappeared again, "Are lacking a drink."

"Unnecessary," Prowl insisted, demurring but secretly thrilled to have this kind of attention paid to him again. Though Jazz had had his sources, by the mid-point of the war even those had dried up and even Prowl might have gone a decaorn or more between cubes. Being given fuel made him feel _special_ in a way he'd never expected, and the hand gently stroking his short wings only increased it. It was almost enough to make him forget that he was in public.

Dimly, he wondered if this had been what Ratchet had been talking about when he'd overheard the medic talking to Prime one afternoon, about whether this other Jazz would help him heal enough to live. He wasn't sure if he'd have been able to respond to this kind of attention not all that long ago, let alone feel like returning it.

The second drink appeared and Sideswipe's second hand fell away to pick it up as he stood. "C'mon," he said, gesturing with his helm for a table in the back of the room, away from the bar. Prowl stood and followed and they sat down across from each other. Sideswipe lifted the drink up to his mouth and he couldn't contain the shiver. Not even Jazz had fed him, not like this.

His optics dimming, Prowl sipped the fine high grade, a favorite of his from before the war when it had been one of the most expensive imports on the common market. Back then, it represented a vorn's worth of his indulgence savings. This world produced it and solar in incredible abundance, but old mecha's tastes changed slowly, and pre-war desires faded even more slowly than that.

Sideswipe's other hand came back up to cover his own, caressing as Prowl drank. In close contact, Prowl could feel the faint charge that was already dancing through the warrior's systems, just from this. There was exhilaration there, disbelief and _thrill_ all wrapped up with the amazement of it all. 

Sideswipe set the drink down when Prowl hummed to indicate a pause, giving the silver mech a chance to swallow some of his own drink. 

"No one else ever tried, in your entire life?" Sideswipe asked.

"Nothing like this," Prowl murmured, feeling just a bit dazed at it all. "Most attention I received was from those I was trying to arrest, or just at a bar and I never wanted more."

"Until Jazz," Sideswipe said, lifting Prowl's drink back up for him, optics bright and entranced by watching Prowl accept. He was young enough, created after the first shots had been fired, that he'd never had the kind of energon availability that lead to such displays. If you couldn't fuel yourself, you were either about to deactivate, or you were on an IV. Neither was remotely erotic. But watching Prowl, who had matured well before the shortages and did take this as a very intimate offering in public, was enchanting and made it easy for Sideswipe to understand how the feeding kink had come about.

Prowl simply hummed his agreement before sliding a hand across the shallow table to curl around Sideswipe's cube. With more than enough processor power to handle drinking and feeding simultaneously, Prowl lifted the cube to Sideswipe's lip plates.

Sideswipe jumped in surprise but quickly controlled himself to accept, drinking at the slow pace that Prowl provided him. The other mech timed the pace so that they reached halfway simultaneously, then they lowered their cubes back down to the table. 

Prowl smiled, a bit shy but interested. "I am sorry I never noticed your efforts for what they were. I was either already with Jazz, or not ready to try to move on."

Sideswipe shrugged. "Obviously I wasn't trying hard enough," he said. "Guess you're just more of a hands on kinda mech."

"Self-programmed not to notice, I suspect, as well," Prowl admitted as his free hand slid over Sideswipe's. "I never wanted to risk my function over such frivolous things. It took Jazz centuries to convince me it did not have to be one or the other. I never integrated that lesson very well. But you ... what have you been doing off shift since we settled here?"

"You know me," Sideswipe said with a grin and half a shrug. "I go to bars, start fights, pick races with engines twice as big as mine and then get into another fight when I lose. What'd you do when you were with Jazz, can I ask? When you weren't, you know, warring."

"He'd drag me to cultural events, museums, concerts, other cities. Taught me to dance and play several games. It was Jazz who recognized how good I was at large scale tactics and kept pressing me to apply for tactical training. He'd insist that I sit with him and actually _watch_ silly programs from long before I thought either of us had been created," Prowl's expression softened considerably as his gaze unfocused. "He'd bring home things when it was no longer safe to go out. I knew from the moment he introduced himself that I had better never ask how he came across what he did. Even before the war he was inter-city Vice, and that was in public. I didn't know until I was pretty far up the chain of command that he'd been created for SpecOps and he had long been Whiplash's favored creation. It wasn't until just before he left that he gave me his real file, the one that was internal to his department. Mech was nearly three times my age. I never expected that. But mostly, we could just sit and talk about anything."

"Oh," Sideswipe said. "Wow. Didn't know that. Really that old? Never been good at sitting and talking." He flashed Prowl a grin. "More of an action mech."

"I would have never guessed," Prowl responded dryly but with a shadow of teasing smile. "I wouldn't mind racing sometime when I'm not trying to throw you in the brig."

"Deal," Sideswipe said, and winked at him with a flick of his armor. "But that'll mean I need to leave you with enough energy to move, and right now, I don't see that happening."

A faint shiver raced down Prowl's frame at that promise. "You seem very sure of yourself."

"Mech, you _do_ know how I resolve my bar fights," Sideswipe said with a grin. "Every which way, which includes upside down and sideways and backwards, I know how to twist some cables up."

"True," Prowl allowed himself to purr and lifted Sideswipe's drink to feed him once more with a slightly more eager teek to his field. "You know how frames are put together nearly as well as an engineer."

"I can do _way_ more interesting things with ball joints than any engineer can," Sideswipe scoffed when Prowl lowered the cube after a long drink.

"Really now?" Prowl did purr and leaned forward a bit, his faint arousal ticking at Sideswipe through gently blending fields. "You've had a long time to study me. Do you believe you can make me scream your designation with only your claws?"

"That a challenge?" Sideswipe asked with a laugh, engine revving up eagerly. "I think that was a challenge. Up with you, not waiting two joors."

"We should finish our energon," Prowl said smoothly.

"Or save it for after," Sideswipe suggested with a grin. "You'll need the pick-me-up."

"That is also a challenge," Prowl chuckled, low and quiet as he stood, his cube in hand and Sideswipe's in front of the warrior. "Coming?"

"You have _no_ idea," Sideswipe said, subspacing his cube and heading out with Prowl. He only took the lead in the end so he could open his door. Though Prowl was perfectly capable of doing so with his override, or just asking Metroplex to, it was polite all the way around for Sideswipe to make the move.

"You," Sideswipe said, turning around so he could see Prowl and backing into the single chamber with bright optics and relaxed armor, "Are in for a good time, I promise." 

Prowl settled himself, somewhat by force, and followed Sideswipe to the berth. It felt a little like cheating, even though his mate was long deactivated. It felt unnatural, after having only one lover during his relatively long existence. But he wanted to _know_ if he was monogamous to the level that was unnatural, or if he'd just never had the opportunity most newly created mecha did to explore their desires with many others.

Sideswipe drew him close with hands that immediately found the right places, knew _just_ where a mech's frame came together over and under and around, the way his mate had once known his frame, the way his lover still hadn't perfected. 

Oh, Jazz was good, there wasn't any doubt the small mech was a fast learner, but Sideswipe--Sideswipe _knew_ how to play a frame. 

Prowl moaned and shivered. His armor loosened as he went willingly lax and submissive to Sideswipe. The warrior had long ago earned his trust to protect him. This was a small leap for Prowl after all that trust.

"What was that you were saying about my claws?" the younger mech purred, as razor-sharp blades ghosting against his joints, the _brush_ of another chest against his whispering of so much more to come. 

"So sharp," Prowl gasped, his field flaring bright and hot against Sideswipe's in an expression of the pleasure being caused. In a light daze Prowl reached up to try and return some of that attention. His own knowledge was far less, both of how mecha were put together and in giving pleasure to anyone other than his mate, but there were basics that crossed every frametype and he used that to try and tease a few moans from the silver warrior.

Sideswipe gave them eagerly, and there was a youthful eagerness beneath everything that spoke of just _how much_ he'd wanted to do this, and how long he'd waited for it. "Berth with you," he groaned, pushing Prowl into a sit, and then back as he climbed on after. Wandering, bladed fingers stroked around all the outer seams of his chest armor before traveling inward, circling a dataport. "Betcha haven't felt _this_ in a bit," he said with a low rumble. 

Only static came from Prowl's vocalizer, but the port spiraled open and his chest pressed into that touch without hesitation or concern as his powerful pursuit engine roared with desire. Even without his voice, Prowl's field could plead, and it did without shame. Oh, he _wanted_ that, wanted the intimacy of hardline and spark, to feel _alive_ again with the connection to a mecha that knew how to _live_.

Sideswipe's cable slipped right in, clicked into place, and came with a hard burst of pure, charged up _want_ that flooded into Prowl's frame. A sharp, pitched keen of ecstasy answered along with a pulse of power that nearly overloaded Sideswipe's systems. Strong hands gripped Sideswipe's shoulders as Prowl writhed under him. Every movement was a reminder that though Sideswipe was the taller mech, Prowl had the advantage in mass and raw power.

It was one of the first things that had attracted Sideswipe to him. More specifically, his ability to _use_ his mass and raw power had been the lure. Feeling the _power_ behind the charge was a buzz like no other, knowing that this being was his to command and pleasure in this moment creating a rush through him that slammed back into the other mech. 

The high grade buzzing through his systems, Sideswipe sent pulse after pulse over, pounding his field and energy into Prowl's frame and reveling in the surges that came back. Somewhere deep in his processors, Sideswipe was half expecting and prepared to hear Jazz's designation. If he'd had an exclusive lover that long three centuries wouldn't have wiped away the reflex.

"Si-Side--swipe!" Prowl keening scream echoed through the room as his frame arched, nearly strong enough to cause Sideswipe to lose all contact with the berth. It sent a huge rush into Sideswipe, nearly enough power to operate his entire frame, and it was only a fraction of what was cascading through Prowl's circuits as he overloaded.

"Oh-- _frag_ ," Sideswipe moaned as the charge coursed over, around, through him. He waited until Prowl had settled enough to be mostly coherent. " _Damn_ mech you really needed that!" he said with a laugh, and his claws moved unrelentingly back into the chest seams. "C'mon--plug in, I wanna do that again with two."

It took Prowl a moment to orient himself and his motor controls enough to comply, but when he did it was with a bit of a tease as he eased his cable out, stroking it slowly and feeding that sensation to Sideswipe.

Sideswipe shuddered and lightened the touches that he'd been using to so effectively scratch the sensor ache in Prowl's frame, turning them equally as teasing. Prowl's engine gave a whine at the loss of sensation and Sideswipe's revved back. "Plug it in if you want it," he purred, and shoved a hard burst of charge across.

A core deep shudder and Prowl lost his will to tease. Hid fingers deftly slipped the plug in place and sent a full-strength charge through when Sideswipe's systems opened to him. With the linked connection, Prowl offered to let Sideswipe a bit deeper in to feel the strength of Prowl's processors against his own.

~My strength drew you ... come know it,~ Prowl purred seductively.

~Really don't have to ask me twice,~ Sideswipe said, and shuddered through the next exchange of pure, frame-shaking energy. Static jumped between them, everywhere their armor was pressed together, and Sideswipe rubbed against Prowl, heightening the strength of it. Feeling Prowl's power beneath him, behind every surge, was more than the younger mech could handle and it didn't take him long to overload after that, shouting as he did and writhing as the electricity rocketed through him.

Under him Prowl shivered, moaned and continued to pump energy into the lighter frame above him until he felt the _click_ of a hard reboot, and purred to himself at his success.

When Sideswipe found himself regaining awareness, it was to the fact that something immensely powerful and complex was registering as a new peripheral system and the owner was giving him quite a bit of access to it. Almost full read authorization, some command codes, but no write access.

It startled him for a moment--he'd never done anything like _this_ before--and then pushed curiously forward. ~Wow you weren't kidding,~ he said, staring at the massive depths of intricate coding that ran the finest tactical processor in the Autobots.

~This is the core of what I am, upgrade after upgrade, as many as my spark could sustain,~ Prowl said, offering to show Sideswipe what a battle looked like to him.

Sideswipe all but fell over himself pushing forward to see, staring at the scene in absolute, adoration-soaked awe. Millions of datapoints came together to form complete images, each one representing one mech, one set of motivations, one city of origin based on statistics and a distribution pattern algorithm that Sideswipe couldn't even _begin_ to comprehend. Likelihoods, probabilities, chances, all came together to form a massively powerful predictive software that had helped the Autobots survive the beating the Decepticons had given them.

In the background, Sideswipe was told that this was a small, short battle by Prowl's standards, and while Sideswipe was viewing just one level, _could_ only view one level, Prowl didn't just perceive the overall picture, he saw each datapoint, updated by the nanoklik, and the comm network that Prowl spent many later battles plugged into. Those battles where Prowl was no more than a voice were battles where he and Blaster or Boomer or Cyberwave had fundamentally become a single being, their processors and frames and capabilities merged and cross-linked to a level that Sideswipe had a glyph for: gestalt.

Sideswipe didn't even have words, just _awe_.

~I am not gestalt, though I suppose there are many similarities at that depth of integration,~ Prowl mused, watching the awe grow into something more. ~I was not trying to do that, Sideswipe,~ he murmured uneasily. ~I am just a highly specialized mech.~

~Right, yeah,~ Sideswipe said quickly, shaking himself a little. He shifted up, rubbing their chests together, the push of his spark energy caressing beneath the armor. ~Just a highly _awesome_ mech.~

~If you insist,~ Prowl accepted this complement a bit more easily and pushed his spark energy back with the distinctive sound of armor latches unlocking.

~I do insist,~ Sideswipe said with a grin as he touched their forehelms together, then moved more fully over Prowl to give him a better view of his chest parting. ~Gotten any lately?~

~No,~ Prowl moaned in very eager anticipation, his optics locked on Sideswipe's chest as his own parted smoothly. ~So long ago.~

~We'll fix that,~ Sideswipe said, as their arms hooked around each other to lock their frames in place. ~ _Oh_ yes,~ he said as Prowl's spark came into view. ~ _Bright._ Gonna be good.~

Prowl had so little to compare it to that he remained silent, but there was no mistaking his intense eagerness as his chamber spiraled open and the pale, nearly white leaders reached for Sideswipe. He _wanted_ , badly. The release, the intimacy, the pure pleasure that went from spark to the frame rather than the other way. His interfaces with the alien Jazz had only intensified how much he missed how interfacing was meant to be done.

Sideswipe's spark answered, just as eager, and with a rush of that same adoration through his field that Prowl had felt so strongly before. The spark itself came forward quickly, but to his almost surprise, didn't overwhelm him. The merge was practiced, careful, tendrils hooking and pulling them tight. Sideswipe was an experienced lover, and quickly took control over the speed and rhythm. 

Prowl was more than willing to allow him, having long been conditioned to allow Jazz to. He was not passive, though. Tendrils reached out to caress and merge, and energy flowed smoothly as he moaned his pleasure and near _relief_ at finally having a real interface and the anticipation of a spark overload after so very many tactile ones had teased him to the point of wanting to scream in frustration.

Sideswipe could feel it, easily. ~You poor thing,~ he purred, as his spark found a pulsing rhythm that was just nanokliks off of Prowl's frequency. It was frustrating, and painfully arousing. _Just_ off the exact right spot, Sideswipe could hold him here as long as he wanted, ratcheting up the charge before allowing the release. ~How's that for you?~

Prowl could barely think as he trembled under his lover, but his spark fluttered and tried to match the beat set for it. It knew this game, the teasing until he pleaded. With his optics off, Prowl's entire reality centered on his spark and how maddingly close the pulse of the spark against his was to perfect.

Sideswipe hummed deeply. ~That's it,~ he purred, far more in control of himself, far less desperate for the overload and playing Prowl for it the entire way. ~Here we go,~ he moaned when he had Prowl writhing mindlessly beneath him, and synched the rhythm up.

Even prepared for it, Sideswipe was shocked at just how fast Prowl overloaded, and even more stunned by the intensity of it. Prowl's spark exploded against his, enveloping him almost completely in the first flare of many. Sideswipe shook from it, shouting in his own overload, squeezing and expanding against Prowl in rapid spasms. "Primus," he laughed once he could speak again. "You were ready to _pop_." He pushed his spark forward again. "Up for more?"

"Yes," Prowl purred, still rather sated, but his spark pulsed against Sideswipe's eagerly. "Should actually last this time."

"Excellent," Sideswipe said, and drove forward.

* * *

Jazz closed down the nightclub as slowly as possible, to give Prowl and Sideswipe as much time as he could. He spent a lot of time grinning, imagining Prowl getting laid properly, and was glad for it. The mech deserved _good_ interfacing. Pit, he did too, but at least it was available for Prowl so Jazz could only be happy for him. 

He was certain that the silver Jazz would have wanted Prowl to be able to move on like this, and he was happy to help this universe's version of himself out with that. 

The smile faded. He missed Prowl. _His_ Prowl. And the only moving on to do was helping _this_ Prowl move on. But at least he was here for that. 

By the time he was finished, he really, _really_ wanted to be with Prowl, just to be surrounded by that field, and it was a relief to get back to his quarters and find him waiting. "Hey you," he said with a grin for the mech in his favorite chair, reading.

"Hello. Was it a good evening?" Prowl met his gaze with a definite smile, small but there.

"Oh, nuh-uh," Jazz said, jumping up into Prowl's lap. Prowl wrapped a hand around his waist as Jazz settled against his chest. "You don't get to do that. I get to ask the questions. How was _your_ evening?"

"Intense, relaxing and rather strange," Prowl nuzzled him. "Sideswipe knows what he's doing, and he's definitely interested in me, but as good as it was, he's not my Jazz."

"Neither am I," Jazz said, their fields stroking and caressing.

"No, but you _feel_ like him, teek like him," Prowl murmured. "I still miss him."

Jazz sobered. "I know," he said, and reached up to tug Prowl down, bringing their forehelms together. He sighed. "Yeah, I know." 

Quiet, calm understanding passed between them, the knowledge of what losing a mate _really_ felt like, until their fields had settled again and Jazz let go, looking back up. "Gonna 'face 'im again?"

"I believe so," Prowl said, though he was still somewhat undecided. "As good as tactile with you is, I'm too accustomed to hardline and spark not to miss it greatly."

"Believe me I understand," Jazz said. "What I wouldn't _give_ for a mech with a hard spike and a sweet valve. At least one of us can get properly laid. I think you should go for it." 

"There is some work being done on your problem," Prowl gave a secretive smile. "You'll have a couple proper toys soon at least. It's not the real thing, but it should be better than fingers."

"Oh?" Jazz said with a grin and a purr. "And Mirage is hooking me up with a code specialist, we're gonna see if I can write a translation. Should get better for both of us." 

"Good," Prowl relaxed a bit more. "For now though, tactile still feels very good."

"Extremely so," Jazz purred. "Speaking of ... did Sideswipe wear you out or can I coax you into a few overloads?"

"You can _always_ coax a few from me," Prowl purred back, knowing the truth of it intimately. He was very happily conditioned to respond to his mate, and they were both happy to take advantage of it.


	10. Challenges with Dating

The lead-up to the grand opening of Jazz's nightclub was an event that lasted a full decaorn with a different special every night, all of it culminating on the final night with energon delicacies, music from around the galaxy, and invitations sent out to just about every mecha on the planet. The higher cost of high grade deterred the ones who only wanted to get overcharged, and attracted those looking for a quieter atmosphere without the rowdy mess. It was lively without being over the top, entertaining without being deafening, and just the kind of place many of the former officers among them had been hoping for. Mirage and Optimus Prime in particular were frequent patrons, and gave every indication it wasn't just to support a new business or be polite.

Prowl frequented it as well, and not always to be around Jazz. He liked the smoother music, the better high grade and generally higher quality establishment to relax in, sitting in a corner and sipping on a single cube all evening as he simply watched. Tonight was not such a night. Prowl walked in with his sensor wings high and tense, a no-nonsense air about him that clearly said he was not here to relax. He headed right for the bar.

Jazz grinned at him. "Hey, officer," he purred seductively, leaning forward over the counter. "One on the house? Or maybe one in the back?" His visor flickered in a wink. "My treat..."

"I am on duty," Prowl informed him flatly. "I'm investigating a recent vandalism."

"So what brings you here?" Jazz asked innocently.

"I have my suspicions," Prowl told him. "I will need to ask you a few questions, when you have a moment."

"Hey, we agreed no assumptions," Jazz said. "You don't get to question based on personal suspicion."

Prowl simply looked at him. "It is not personal suspicion."

Jazz's visor brightened in surprise. "You _found_ something?"

"Do you wish this conversation in public?" Prowl asked him, offering to take it somewhere less likely to cause problems for the new resident, even though most of the regular patrons knew about the lovers' prank war at this point.

"I knew it," Jazz said with a purr. "You _are_ here to get me in the back." He hopped down off the counter, gesturing for Prowl to go around the end and follow him. The Praxian did so, his rigid stance not loosening when they were out of sight.

"There has been recent welding here, has there not?" Prowl began evenly.

Jazz cocked his head up at the taller mech. "Sure, during construction, and some modifications the last few orns."

"The individual who conducted the vandalism left welding dust behind. Since a chemical in it degrades within an orn when unbonded and uncontained, the individual responsible was in close contact with fresh welding," Prowl laid it out. "I have confirmed the location of each member of the work crew during night shift and you do not yet have any staff."

"I have Blaster," Jazz pointed out. 

"He is an independently contracted DJ who was working at another club at the time of the vandalism," Prowl said. 

Jazz thought for a few moments, rocking on his pedes. "So you think I did it." 

"You are a logical suspect," Prowl said. 

"Mhmm. What am I being accused of?"

"Vandalism of government property," Prowl said. "The designation markers of the senior officials were changed."

"Oh yeah?" Jazz purred. "What's yours, 'Prowlericious?'"

Prowl raised an optic ridge. "My designation is Prowl. It seems someone believes I am a ruling female composed of two hydrogen atoms bonded by an oxygen atom in a solid state."

Jazz twitched, and then broke down in giggles that he tried desperately to suppress, with no success. "That's--that's how you describe _Ice Queen?_ " he gasped through his laugher, holding his sides as he doubled over.

"That _is_ the definition of those terms," Prowl huffed, well aware that Jazz wasn't making fun of him.

Jazz had to take a few more kliks of giggling before he was finally in something resembling control over himself again and he cleared out his vocalizer. "So--um, you think--" A quickly stifled laugh. "You think I did it," Jazz said, and it took all of his effort to keep his face straight. "How do you know it was welding from my establishment, officer?"

"This is the only location where welding occurred in the past orn and a half," Prowl replied.

Jazz nodded slowly, mulling that over. "Do you have any way to connect the physical evidence to me personally, instead of someone who may have been in the area?"

"I have enough probable cause to insist on a search of your person for the residue and subject both to a degradation study," Prowl explained. "By your own admission, no one has been in the restaurant portion of this establishment since the work began other than the workers and yourself. The workers have all been accounted for during the time in question."

"Damn, mech," Jazz said, shaking his head and grinning. "You are impressive. And _hot_. Does that leave you with enough time for a quickie, then?"

"That depends on what you intend," Prowl rumbled and leaned in close. "I have not had your lips on my chamber in entirely too long."

"Been busy," Jazz purred, and stroked a finger down the center of Prowl's chest. "I'd say I have about five more kliks before the rush starts and Blaster comes looking. How about a trade, my lips on your chamber and you look the other way this time, mm?"

"The match is still mine, and you will fix the labels tonight," Prowl slid his hands along Jazz's sides and unlocked his chest as he knelt to bring his chamber on level with his lover's lips. "Do that and I will not file charges. I am _not_ frigid."

"No," Jazz agreed with a deep, lustful purr as he dipped his head into Prowl's chest to x-vent against the chamber. "You're _molten_."

* * *

Jazz was too busy to even look over to the door when he heard the entrance chime, working as fast as he could to get a round of a dozen fire rock shooters out to a table, and he had just finished putting the last one together when the large, silver frame sat down right in front of him. He looked up to see Sideswipe smirking. 

"Nimbus," he called, and slid the tray over to the only staff he'd managed to hire so far. "Can you get that?" 

"Yeah I got it," the former spy-turned-dancer said, with a knowing look at Sideswipe before heading over with the order. 

"Don't usually see you around here," Jazz said casually, facing Sideswipe squarely. 

Sideswipe grinned at him. "Yeah well, don't usually see you anywhere _but_ here lately," he said. "Just wanted you to know I've got Prowl in good claws."

"Can I get you something?" Jazz asked. 

"Nah, just waiting for Prowl," Sideswipe said, propping his chin up in one hand. "Meeting here soon as he's off duty. But we're not staying long. Got plans for that mech." 

"I'm glad you both seem to enjoy each other so much," Jazz said, matching the silver mech's smirk. 

"We have a _lot_ of time for it," Sideswipe said. "Kinda like you're not on the same planet sometimes." 

"True, my wildly successful club opening has kept me extremely busy," Jazz said, quietly noting Prowl walking in, but limiting his reaction so that Sideswipe wouldn't have any reason to look himself. "Funny though, he never seems too tired for me when I get home." 

"I only send him back _after_ he's had a good recharge," Sideswipe said. 

"Sideswipe," Prowl greeted them smoothly before Jazz could give a return. "Jazz, it looks as if things are going very well."

"Extremely," Jazz purred, all of his attention immediately going to his lover with a field that turned deeply flirtatious in an instant. Prowl's caressed back, less flirtatious but still decidedly amorous. "Sideswipe was just commenting on how much time I've put into the place, I'm glad it's paying off." 

"We don't want to keep you, of course," Sideswipe said as he stood and skated smoothly around them both to stroke Prowl's armored sensor wings, reveling in the way it made the mech's vents hitch. "Seeing as how busy you are all the time."

"Have a good evening, Jazz. I will see you when you have time," Prowl said, meaning it honestly even as he leaned into the touch from behind.

"Enjoy yourself in the meantime," Jazz said with a suggestive grin, meaning it just as much as Prowl had. "You know where to come if you need to break and refuel." 

"I think we'll be fine," Sideswipe said, waving his claws back at Jazz before they left together.

* * *

It was an orn when Sideswipe had the evening patrol, and instead of joining him Prowl had decided to spend time in Jazz's club, the Nightbird, watching and relaxing. Three joors past nicely, and now it was closing. The staff, Jazz, Blaster and Nimbus, had finally gotten the last mech to leave and begun cleaning. It was an unwritten but understood rule that as long as he didn't get in the way, Prowl was allowed to remain. So he remained, gracefully moving closer to Jazz as the mech finished clearing tables and settled behind the bar to put it to rights for the next orn.

Jazz's field was warm, even grateful for the company. "So finally I get to say, 'Hello, how was your day?'" he chuckled as he collected the empty cubes.

"Excessively dull. Much of it was taken up with overseeing the security measures for the Human ambassador's visit," Prowl answered easily, relaxed and feeling safe here.

"Ah, fleshies," Jazz said. "Man, and you lot being all giants I bet most of the risk is accidental squishage."

Prowl grimaced. "I'm more concerned with their ability to survive traffic. They wish to see the entire city. Including the entertainment."

"I hope you have designated drivers," Jazz said as he started loading cubes up onto a tray to head for the sterilizer. "Not sure how much you've interacted with Human drivers but they drive for scrap. Literally. Though if they're complaining about wanting to be in control over 'their' vehicles, it's easy to fake 'em out."

"Are you volunteering?" Prowl purred at him. "Human-friendly mechs are very few. Most stayed in their system when we left."

"Drive the fleshies around?" Jazz said with a laugh. "Yeah, man, sign me up. Always kinda liked the little guys."

"You have just made several mecha very happy and my next orn easier," Prowl chuckled. "Can your staff handle things for an orn and a half? That is all they are staying."

"Oh yeah," Jazz said, pulling out flavoring bottles to take into the back for refilling. "You'll have to find someone who can speak their current dialect at me for a bit, though. First Contact English has to be more than a little outdated by now."

"Significantly, though it is a derivative at least," Prowl agreed, then switched over. "Hello, Jazz. Are you ready to learn?"

Jazz cocked his head, playing the phrase over in his processor. The greeting was easy to pick out, and his designation, and the format and intonation of a question. "Hello, ready to learn," he repeated back in a guess, looking at Prowl expectantly for more. It wasn't unlike when he'd picked up Old English to read things in their original form. He'd quickly figured out that Old English had more in common with modern German than it did its modern namesake. This, like that, was not a language he could download. He'd had to _read_ the studies on it, then original, then the translations to understand, but he'd done it.

"The racetrack will be popular, but also very dangerous." Prowl began diving into the practical terms Jazz would need to recognize. Jazz was a rapid study, and he thoroughly enjoyed watching the small mech listen, categorize, translate, and learn. They talked on for long after the other employees had left and closed down for the night, with Jazz perched on the counter in front of Prowl, visor bright with interest and enjoyment as they chatted together about everything and nothing in the pursuit of preparing Jazz for his duties with the humans.

* * *

It took a little bit of convincing, but Sideswipe finally managed to drag Prowl out to the racetrack for some public races. It wasn't that Prowl didn't like racing, or being in public, but he'd never been tempted by the mix. 

"Race ya," he purred, as soon as the next open race began to line up. 

"I was under the impression you did not like to lose," Prowl said dryly even as he walked to the starting line.

"Ha!" Sideswipe said as he transformed and revved his engines up. "That'll be the orn." 

"You have yet to escape me," Prowl replied calmly, earning a couple snickers from around them as Prowl settled on his tires and revved his engine with his full processor power dedicated to the race. "I was created to catch your type."

"Because you outsmart and outnumber, not outrace," Sideswipe shot back playfully. 

Prowl's reply, if there was going to be one, was cut off by the starting lights counting down. Sideswipe spoke the truth, and while Prowl couldn't use numbers to win this time, he did have far more processor power than anyone else on the field. What was usually dedicated to running the government was now focused on optimizing his systems and movement on a very limited track with few variables as they took off.

No one else dedicated that kind of thought power to racing, even the most dedicated racers focused their attention on their speed and power, not measuring the exact curve of the ground and the optimum amount of power to put into a corner to optimize their overall speed. 

No one racing had seen Prowl race on a track before, and they all assumed he wouldn't have any idea what he was doing. 

So when he came in first, it stunned them all.

Everyone except Sideswipe, that was, and while he huffed and made much of Prowl being lucky, Prowl could easily teek that Sideswipe, while not surprised, was still very impressed.

"Best two out of three," the silver warrior insisted.

"Agreed," Prowl inclined his helm slightly and went to wait their turn on the starting line.

Two out of three turned into three out of five and would have turned into four out of seven if the other racers hadn't started teasing Sideswipe about setting himself up for a solid thrashing. The silver mech finally agreed to break for refueling.

"Thank you for convincing me to come. I have not enjoyed an evening out so much in centuries," Prowl said honestly as they sipped their energon and watched the next race. Neither mech was oblivious to the attention Prowl had garnered, and Sideswipe wasn't surprised when two of the pro racers, those who made their income with a share of the proceeds of each race they were in, came up to challenge them.

"Think you're up to race with us?" Hot Rod grinned, his bright red and orange coloring a dramatic statement about wanting to be the center of attention.

"I would enjoy that, if Sideswipe is agreeable," Prowl glanced at his date.

"Frag yes," Sideswipe told the racers with a grin. "I think we finally found someone who can outrace your afts. Next race?"

"You're on," Hot Rod said, leaving with his partner to watch the rest of the current round. 

"So how do you do that?" Sideswipe, turning to Prowl with amazement.

"I focus my full attention on the race," Prowl said with a faint smile.

"Yeah but so does everyone else," Sideswipe said, staring at him in awe.

"You have witnessed what a dozen processor upgrades and specialized software can do," Prowl pointed out mildly as the current race ended. "I have more free-use processor power than any ten mecha, short of the hosts. Only Onslaught comes close."

"It's ridiculously cool," Sideswipe decided as they rose together to make their way to the starting line.

"Thank you," Prowl said as he settled on the starting line. He absently listened to comm chatter as he always did, and couldn't help but be mildly surprised at how many mecha were betting on him to win, and then by how much. Personally, he did not approve of gambling, but the Prime insisted that it was important to allow so it could be regulated, and at least that reasoning Prowl agreed with. But to be the subject of hopes rather than the dispenser of bad tidings and the mecha no one never wanted to see or hear from ... it was a little distracting.

When the countdown began, however, Prowl shoved it all in the pending pile and once more dedicated himself fully to the race.

Somewhat to his relief, Hot Rod turned out to be a real challenge, as a driver who had dedicated his life to racing, he had learned over centuries to instinctively understand what Prowl's processor actively worked out in moments. The end result was competition that Prowl was forced to pay attention to, or risk losing. It was a thrill he hadn't felt in _ages_ and Prowl didn't hide how elated and excited he was as he and Hot Rod exchanged the lead time and time again through the four-lap race, neither one gaining the lead for long or by more than half a length.

It was _exhilarating_ and Prowl was hooked.

The end came and not even the racers were sure which one won until the recorder set above the finish line reported that Prowl had finished less than a finger's width ahead of his brightly colored opponent.

Sideswipe came skidding to a halt next to him as he transformed, pouncing him before the silver mech was even fully in root mode, tackling him to the ground, earning a squawk from Prowl. "That was _amazing!_ " he cheered, reluctantly letting go and shifting so Prowl could get up.

"It really was," Hot Rod said a moment later with a chuckle as he held his hand out to help Prowl up. "You should be doin' this professionally, mech."

"I have a function," Prowl said before his processor caught up with the intent of the statement. "Thank you, though," he said as he accepted the hand up. "Perhaps we can race occasionally anyway? That was a very satisfying challenge."

"Oh yeah," Hot Rod said. "All my guys are wantin' to join, we'll set something up." 

Sideswipe was against him again, hands on his chest. "You have _no_ idea how charged that got me," he purred blatantly, though his field spoke clearly of it and Prowl's responded eagerly with a deceptively gentle surge into the taller silver mech.

"Comm me to set up the details," Prowl answered Hot Rod, then looked appraisingly at Sideswipe. "Tomorrow."

"Sure thing," Hot Rod said with a rumbling chuckle, before Sideswipe nudged Prowl to transform with a commed challenge to race back to his quarters, his intentions perfectly clear when he revved his engine suggestively.

"You will obey speed limits and traffic laws," Prowl yelled before transforming and racing after him, though his lights were off.

"Right, cop bot!" Sideswipe called back with a laugh, though to Prowl's surprise, he actually _did_ obey all the laws, despite a few risky dodges through moving traffic that weren't _technically_ illegal. When they reached Sideswipe's door he finally transformed and tapped it open with a flourish, bowing Prowl in.

With a low chuckle Prowl walked in, taking the opportunity to tease Sideswipe's slender doorwings while he was at it. "That really does rev you up."

"You have no idea," Sideswipe said with a rev, forcibly guiding Prowl to the berth and pushing him down onto it. The heavier and higher ranking mech went with it easily, enjoying the sense of power over him and the protection it offered. The power of this mech in particular had protected him most of the war and it wasn't lost on Prowl how much he _liked_ being the smaller mech, the one being shielded.

Prowl's hands came up to stroke Sideswipe's arms, fingers teasing the sensors on the armor and deeper inside. "Let me feel it then," he brought one hand inward to circle Sideswipe's interface cover.

"Mm, hold on tight," Sideswipe rumbled as it spiraled open, tugging his cable out and circling the tip around Prowl's exposed port before clicking in with a hard rush of charge. "That's _all_ you," he moaned, and his port opened with the next surge. "Plug on in so I can _really_ show you." 

Prowl didn't hesitate, sending a powerful surge into Sideswipe as he plugged in. "The final race, being _challenged_ , it was incredible. Racing with you is fun. Racing against the pros made me feel more _alive_ than I've felt in ages. Thank you."

The compliment, and gratitude, seemed to startle Sideswipe, but he quickly pushed it aside to rub their chests together with another roar of his engine to mark the burst of sensation it created. "Good," he rumbled, and the next charge was pushed over both lines with Sideswipe's full force behind it. Prowl replied in kind, nearly whiting out Sideswipe's awareness with the strength and absolute enjoyment of their date.

The pleasure spiraled quickly, neither one inclined to hold back and draw it out. It wasn't long before the revving and their cries took on a sharp edge, then the bliss of overload.

Anyone hanging out near the door would have heard round after round, and most would smile that the pair had _finally_ gotten together. No one doubted that Sideswipe was immensely easier to be around now that his lifelong crush wasn't unrequited.

Inside the room, things finally quieted as the pair settled, exhausted and sated in a way neither were very used to feeling.

Sideswipe's engines rumbled contentedly in a relaxed idle as he draped an arm over Prowl, settling in next to him on the berth. "That was good," he said with a purr.

"Very good," Prowl purred in reply, relaxed and content with both the interface and the protective cuddle Sideswipe had draped himself into. It felt _good_. "I would like to go to the races with you again."

"Mm." Sideswipe powered his optics back on, and for a moment Prowl thought he could teek confusion before it was gone. "Yeah, yeah that'd be fun."

Prowl allowed the conversation to end there, but he could no longer completely ignore that recharge after the interface with no talking between, or after he woke, was beginning to make him miss Jazz. The overloads might not be as good, but the complete package was more enjoyable.

No matter what most mecha thought, Prowl _enjoyed_ talking, and not just about work.

* * *

It didn't happen often, but every once in a while Jazz's work schedule and Prowl's duties ran completely opposite each other, leaving them both without any free time to spend with the other. Narali had been playing host to a neighboring planet's dignitaries, and the popularity of The Nightbird among the officers giving the tours, combined with Prowl's security details, meant they hadn't seen each other in almost five orns. 

So when Jazz finally, _finally_ caught his first glimpse of Prowl off duty at the same time as him in what felt like forever at this point, he _pounced_ , and proceeded to drag him to their shared quarters for a complete and thorough 'facing--at least, as thorough as they could get.

When it was over, limp and tangled together, the pair was panting and mostly physically sated. "I've missed you too," Prowl chuckled.

" _Primus_ I needed that," Jazz groaned, caressing the beloved field under him with his own for a few moments before lifting his head up to look at Prowl. "Let's petition Optimus to make a law saying that planetary visitors can't stay longer than half an orn. It is completely unacceptable that you be busy for so long."

"It is my _function_ , Jazz," Prowl hummed, though he would dearly love such a law. "I would be much, much busier if our relations deteriorated enough that neighbors became hostile. Planetary defense is one of my duties." He stroked Jazz's wide, flat back, the roof of his alt mode that didn't break into a dozen pieces to fold more neatly. "Besides, they do not come often. One of the reasons we chose this world and this system was because of how distant everyone else was. The tradeoff is, the further they travel, the longer they stay."

"There is something to be said for an isolationist governing system, though," Jazz said, arching into the hand with a distracted purr. "Increased exposure is increased risk of grave misunderstandings and hostile sentiment."

"It also brings in a reduction of imports, cultural stagnation and increased likelihood that naturally aggressive races, such as the humans you are so fond of, will see us as machines to be used, rather than beings that have rights," Prowl countered, relaxed and content in talking to this mech. Despite the importance of the topic, it wasn't an important conversation. It was just conversation and they both enjoyed it.

"True," Jazz agreed. "Don't get me wrong, I'm the _last_ mech who would want to limit exposure to other worlds. But I think it probably works better for some species. Not ours, but there have been some successful xenophobic planets."

"Absolutely," Prowl did not contest fact. "However it requires as careful balance of enough resources for that race to flourish, but not any resources that make the world attractive to others, and a territorial nature to make them capable of defending what they claim, but little desire to expand. Plus, well, we have a _very_ poor intergalactic image we need to work on. There are races that wish to conquer us now that we are weak. We need the protection of the nearby governments. As our number decrease, it will become ever more important that we have allies enough to make aggressors question the value of attacking us."

"Basically you're saying isolationism would be a death knell and I should not try to convince Prime otherwise," Jazz chuckled, tucking his head under Prowl's chin. "Damn. What are the politics in this galaxy like?" 

Prowl hummed. "Well, for the most part friendly, though some worlds are still running a bit cool towards us." He began to list and describe the political atmosphere in generalities, until Jazz began to question for nuance, and then he described in detail, thoroughly enjoying himself and the questions that Jazz asked. They were thoughtful, well-constructed, and intelligent. 

When Prowl glanced at his chronometer right before they were finally too tired to keep from recharge, he was startled to find they had spent far more time talking than interfacing. He smiled. He wasn't one bit disappointed by it.

* * *

With the craziness of visitors over for more than a metacycle and the next round not due until humans arrived again at the start of the next local solar cycle, Jazz and Prowl had finally gotten into something of a routine again. While it included plenty of passionate interfacing, it also included many evenings ... technically very early mornings ... like this one when they were both lounging on Prowl's couch, snuggled together. This time Prowl was sitting up and Jazz was laying down with his helm in Prowl's lap while they read.

"Did you know that someone left a custom chair in my office the other orn?" Prowl said randomly.

"Really now?" Jazz hummed, not looking up. "Dignitary or something?"

"No one claimed responsibility. Not even the mech who made it knows who placed the order," Prowl explained. "It's amazingly comfortable. Not just designed for a Praxian, my previous one was that, but designed for _me_ to my exact dimensions and frame quirks. Someone went to a lot of trouble, and I'd like to thank them for it."

"And in attempting to seek out the origin you found nothing?" Jazz asked, voice mild. 

"Nothing at all," Prowl confirmed. 

Jazz's mouth turned up in a pleased smirk. "Well then," he said, and set his reading aside, sat up and slid over into Prowl's lap, straddling his legs. "I win that round," he purred, hands going up to caress his lover's chest.

"Yes, you did," Prowl purred as he leaned forward to kiss his lover. "It is amazingly comfortable. As a bit of a prize for your first victory, I brought a gift for you."

Jazz trilled curiously. "I like gifts," he said with a grin.

"I hope you like this one as much as I like the chair," Prowl said, just a bit nervously. He reached into his subspace and brought out a simple box to hand to Jazz. "It is a custom gift, so I didn't actually have much control over the timing, though I rather like how it turned out."

Jazz scooted back to accept the gift and slid the top of the box back and looked in. His visor brightened and he stared for a moment before his mouth widened into a grin. "Oh, hello," he said, and lifted what could really only be intended as an incredibly fun toy out. "This what I think it is?" he asked, examining the design that was definitely based on his own equipment.

"I believe so," Prowl smiled at the reaction. "It should be more enjoyable in your valve than my fingers."

"There's always something to be said for having it be your field," Jazz said, examining the shape and texture of the spike mimic. "But yes, very likely it will be. Please tell me we're trying this out," he purred.

"We are trying it out," Prowl chuckled as he reached down to tease Jazz's valve cover. "Wheeljack was muttering about an add-on that would allow it to temporarily attach to my frame and feed into my sensory net."

"That would be hot as Pit," Jazz said, spreading his legs open and leaning back. One of Prowl's arms wrapped around him for support, the other took the toy and continued to tease around the exposed valve until Jazz was moaning. A quick, smooth push in had Jazz crying out and bucking against the streamlined, textured shape. It had been _so long_ since he'd felt anything like this, longer since he'd felt it with Prowl as the source of the pleasure, and it took almost nothing at all for him to overload with them combined.

Prowl felt the rush and crackle of the overload where their frames contacted, feeding his charge, but he also felt the burst of electricity the interface toy discharged in response. All together, it made Prowl shiver with arousal, but he focused on continuing to work the toy in and out as he had with his fingers until Jazz settled, gasping and quivering as he came down from a second, smaller overload.

"I take it that felt quite good," Prowl deadpanned.

Jazz gasped out a curse in his native Cybertronian, the one that Prowl always heard when he deeply approved of whatever was happening, as his hips continued to push and rock in small, involuntary twitches. "I think your gift wins," he finally managed.

"Mmm, thank you," Prowl purred deeply. "More?" he slid the toy gently almost all the way out.

"So much more," Jazz purred, struggling to push himself fully upright so he could press against Prowl, working fingers into his wires. In the back of his processor, the programs that had been dedicated to working out a translation code for their systems were immediately made that much more of a priority.

* * *

Prowl's overload had barely faded from his systems and he could already feel Sideswipe gearing up for the next round when Metroplex's voice cut through everything else, going straight to his audials. 

"Prowl, I am concerned about Jazz," the metrotitan said.

"Why?" Prowl's attention was immediately shifted away from Sideswipe and what their frames were doing.

Sideswipe stilled above him, frowning. 

"He appears to be stuck in a recharge flashback loop," Metroplex said. "I have been unable to rouse him. I am concerned he will hurt himself, or do damage to his coding that we cannot repair."

"Call Ratchet. I'm on my way," Prowl pushed on Sideswipe so he could get up.

"Wait, can't someone else--" Sideswipe began in protest, grabbing Prowl's wrist.

"I am sorry," Prowl murmured as he lowered his forehelm to caress Sideswipe's. "Do not expect me back tonight."

The warrior nodded, reluctantly sinking back onto the berth, scowling, but accepting the need for Prowl to go.

Once he knew his lover was sufficiently settled so as to not become violent, Prowl moved as quickly as he could back to his quarters, palming them open and then proceeding with extreme caution. Any SpecOps agent, much less the commander, could be deadly when frightened and unaware of their surroundings, and he'd heard the terrified vocalizations from the hall. 

"He is on the berth," Metroplex said. "Ratchet is coming."

Prowl nodded his understanding and moved carefully to look through the doorway. Jazz was much as Prowl had found him for every other flashback loop, on his back, fighting the unseen nightmare, protecting his chest. 

Carefully Prowl extended his field, stopping as soon as he was close enough for Jazz to teek him. "Jazz?"

Jazz's vocalizer hitched, caught, the scream broke in the middle and his field surged towards Prowl's, grabbing and wrapping and pummeling into him. 

Prowl took the assault and stepped cautiously closer, putting as much calm and safety into his field as he could. "Jazz. You are safe. I am here." It was cruel and he knew it. Jazz was looking for _his_ Prowl, but he was here and he cared enough to lie.

Behind him, he heard the door opening and the sound of Ratchet's systems approaching. He held a hand up to tell the medic to stay where he was and Ratchet stopped immediately. He knew what was at risk with startling this mech. 

With Ratchet settled, Prowl took one step forward, then another, and with each movement forward, Jazz settled more and more. When Prowl was close enough to touch he stopped, making sure to stay within plain view of the flickering visor.

"Jazz. You are safe now." Prowl said carefully, pushing all the reassurance he could through his field as he reached out, slowly and carefully, to touch a pede. Just enough to make a physical connection and as far away from what Jazz was protecting as he could manage. "Come to me. You are safe."

Jazz twitched, and shuddered, and then bolted upright, grabbing for Prowl, his hands finding the other mech's collar and gripping as his vents heaved and he shook, staring at the other mech. 

Everything flicked off for a split moment in a startlingly fast reboot and then Jazz was pressing against him. "Wasn't for him," he gasped in his language, confused and disoriented, "It was for _you_." 

Prowl had heard those phrases before, enough times to understand them. He wrapped his arms around his lover, holding him tightly. "I know," Prowl whispered, kissing Jazz's forehelm. "I know. He paid for taking what is mine."

"He..." Jazz mumbled, then stilled, his visor dimming. "I killed him," he said slowly, then shook his head and pushed away with a shuddering x-vent. "And now I'm here." His voice was clear. "Thank you. Weren't you with..."

"It's all right," Prowl assured him as he sat on the berth. "Are you completely here again?"

"Yeah," Jazz said. "At least, I think I am. I could use a thorough scan and defrag but..." He shrugged, then Ratchet's movement through the doorway caught his attention and he focused sharply before looking at Prowl. "Did I hurt you?"

"No. It was a precaution in case there was damage he could repair," Prowl looked over to Ratchet. "I believe we are fine. Thank you for coming."

Jazz relaxed as soon as he knew that Prowl was unharmed. Ratchet nodded and backed out of sight. After they heard the door opening and closing, Jazz was quiet for a moment, and then he leaned against Prowl. "Thank you for coming. It helps."

"I know," Prowl kissed his forehelm again. "You needed me. I will come when you need me."

"It's bound to be a less exciting evening for you now," Jazz said as he pressed into the touch with a soft, grateful sigh.

"I know, but it will be a more peaceful one for you," Prowl murmured, nudging Jazz to lie down. "Rest, Jazz."

"Yeah all right," Jazz agreed, his subconscious functions seeming to respond to that command almost immediately as his visor dimmed and he began to slump against Prowl. Prowl caught him easily and lowered the exhausted mech fully onto the berth before curling up next to him, one arm protectively around his waist, keeping the nightmares at bay with his field.

* * *

Narali had very little in the way of luxury or businesses that weren't directly tied into the dominant labor force, and the restaurants were no exception. There were only two, and calling them restaurants would be generous. They were small places that operated around the shifts of the planet's workers, specializing in large portions, fast service, and owners who remembered everything about every one of their regulars. 

Prowl sometimes liked to stop in the smaller of the two after his nightly patrol to refuel with something other than an unflavored cube ration, and this morning Sideswipe had hinted that he might stop by at the end of his shift to take Prowl back to his quarters. So he was waiting longer than he typically did, sipping at a heated cube until the silver warrior rolled in.

It was more than enough to garner the attention of the mech on duty, one who knew Prowl's preferences and habits nearly as well as Prowl did.

"Which one are you waiting for?" Softsheen asked warmly as he skated smoothly up to check on Prowl. With only the two of them present at the moment, that wasn't unusual either. Despite his reputation, Prowl _liked_ to talk to citizens when they weren't in trouble.

"Sideswipe," Prowl told him, relaxed and willing to share a bit of gossip about himself in exchange for what the former neutral would often tell him about the state of the labor class. "Jazz is running a dance competition tonight. I doubt he'll be home before dawn."

"Ah. He's really doing quite well for himself, isn't he?" Softsheen happily chatted. "There was real concern when he first showed up, but he's been a great addition, even if I do see far fewer officers now."

"Yes, the Nightbird filled a need that has been there for quite some time. I expect your business will pick up again when the newness has worn off. Many mecha I see there are not the kind of I expect to be long-term clients," Prowl said. "Though I wouldn't have thought you would be in much competition."

"I don't think it's competition so much as limited credits and time, but you're right. It's not a place for everyone," Softsheen agreed.

"You've been inside?" Prowl glanced at in surprise.

"Once. Like everyone I wanted to see what the new club was like," he gave an easy grin. "Not really my thing, but I'm glad it's there for the mecha who really have missed the higher-end establishment."

"That's all Jazz is looking to do," Prowl rippled his armor in agreement. "It's a niche market, but one that wasn't being served."

They both spotted Sideswipe about the same time.

"Will he be having a cube?" Softsheen asked politely.

"Yes," Prowl said, sending Softsheen skating off to mix it while Sideswipe entered.

"Hey, lover," Sideswipe greeted, gliding into the seat next to Prowl. "Softsheen getting my cube?"

"Yes," Prowl reached out to caress Sideswipe's arm. "How was your shift?"

"More exciting than it usually is," Sideswipe said with a grin. "There was a false alarm on a potential breach then it was just space junk making the radar spazz. How about you?" 

"I got that comm sequence," Prowl nodded. "Patrol was nice. I did not have to stop anyone."

"Good," Sideswipe purred as Softsheen returned with his cube. "Means you'll have plenty of energy." 

"As if I have ever lacked enough energy for you," Prowl teased as he sipped in time with Sideswipe, calculating how much for each drink so they would finish together.

Softsheen left them politely alone, going into the back to start on cleaning up for the orn. Sideswipe was about halfway through his cube, chattering away about a new tread style, when the quiet background music suddenly had Prowl's complete focus. 

It was slow but intended to be danced to, and it held a very special place in Prowl's processors. This was the music that Jazz had used in the painful but ultimately rewarding effort to first teach him to dance. His optics dimmed, awareness of Sideswipe fading to almost nothing as he lost himself in those memories. At this point, even the embarrassing efforts were sweet moments full of Jazz's affection for him and patience.

Eventually Sideswipe noticed the shift in mood and quieted. "Hey, um, you all right?" he asked uncertainly. When no answer came his armor ruffled uneasily enough to draw Softsheen's attention, but not yet his presence. "Prowl?" Sideswipe tried again, reaching out to touch Prowl's hand.

That was enough to startle Prowl back to the present, his optics lighting to full power with a flash and rapidly focused. "Sideswipe ... my apologies. The music. I never anticipated it had survived."

"Oh," Sideswipe said, confused by that answer. "What's it from?"

"An old, _very_ old, dance ballad from Crystal City," Prowl said softly. "It predated Jazz, even. A classic that was still popular when the war began, at least among those who still danced the waltz. Jazz taught me to dance to it."

"...Oh," Sideswipe said, and Softsheen was now paying rapt attention. "I'm, um, it reminds you of him?"

"Yes," Prowl murmured with a faint nod and twitch of his armored sensor wings. "It was the first time I truly grasped that he had the patience and dedication when he wanted to accomplish something. Dancing was not something that I learned easily. I am still not good at it. Not even that simple, highly structured kind." His fingers curled around the nearly empty cube. "It took vorns before I was willing to be seen in public for even such simple dances."

Unsaid, but oh so painfully clear, was just how much Prowl _missed_ his mate with the reminder.

Sideswipe patted his arm a little. "Hey, though, you'll always have those good memories right?"

Prowl made the effort for pull his wondering thoughts and emotions together. It hurt, it was hard, but this wasn't Sideswipe's burden. "Yes. They are good memories," he agreed as his field settled and smoothed a bit. "Many good memories. Some like those I intend to make with you tonight."

Sideswipe grinned, very clearly pleased with his apparently success in lifting Prowl's mood, and took the cue to down the rest of his cube and stand, holding his hand out for Prowl. It was taken without hesitation and the pair left, all under the watchful and gauging gaze of Softsheen.

* * *

When Sideswipe finally sank fully into recharge, Prowl stared at the ceiling for several long kliks, then gently maneuvered his way out of the berth. A quick comm message set to show up when the warrior booted, and Prowl was gone. He walked back to his quarters, deep in thought and uncertain if he was hoping for Jazz to be there or not. Normally when he sank this deep into his grief he retreated and meditated until he felt functional again.

Right now ... Jazz might actually understand. Or he may simply 'face Prowl into forgetting, and Prowl would lock himself in his office for a few orns to settle and process all that had been brought up by the music.

He palmed the door open and entered, seeing light coming from the berthroom. "Jazz?" he asked quietly as he came around the corner, finding the former SpecOps mech stretching on the floor. 

As soon as he saw Prowl, Jazz was up on his pedes, visor brightening above his pleasantly surprised grin. "Thought you were gonna be out," he said, walking over for a more affectionate greeting, then stopped when he was in teeking range, the smile fading. "What's wrong?"

"Only memories that do not settle easily," Prowl assured him, though he did nothing to hide the pain of loss associated with the memories of happier times. "Earlier this evening I heard the song that Jazz taught me to dance to."

Comprehension came immediately to Jazz's face and field. He held his hand out for Prowl, leading him back to the berth. Prowl quelled the moment of disappointment--Jazz was helping, as best he could, as best he knew how--and obediently lay down with his lover. 

But Jazz's teek wasn't aroused, or even trying to arouse, or even _comfort_. It was loss, and pain, the same as Prowl's, deep understanding and empathy that Prowl knew he wouldn't find anywhere else.

Vents hitched with a mixture of grief and relief as Prowl pulled the smaller mech close and buried his face against smooth plating. Soon he was shaking, soft clicking keens of grief escaping his vocalizer as he let go for the first time since he'd learned his mate had deactivated. He'd grieved before, but always in private. Not even the Prime could touch him when he felt loss, but this mech who'd seen nothing of his life or his war and yet knew it all entirely too well could.

Jazz wrapped his arms around Prowl's neck and held tightly. "I miss Prowl," he whispered, and his own vocalizer fritzed with static from the pain. "Every moment of every orn. They left too soon."

"Yes, before us, before we could bond," Prowl agreed, relieved in the embrace, in the mutual pain. He knew on an intellectual level that many mecha had suffered his loss, but none had ever made the connection that this one did. "Before we could go with them."

Jazz shuddered. "We should've been able to follow," he said, voice quiet. "And instead we're here without them."

"Yes," Prowl agreed to all of it, his voice full of static even as his frame began to relax. "Programming, war programming, wouldn't let either of us go. Not even now."

Jazz nodded. He'd tried so hard, _so_ hard to end it, even now he didn't know what he would do if he was offered the choice, but at least... 

"If ... I had to survive him, if I was forced to live," he murmured, curled tightly against Prowl, "At least I found my way here."

"I'm glad you were sent here as well," Prowl murmured, his caress light and comforting along Jazz's back. "He will always be my sparkmate, my _one_ , but you are a comfort I never anticipated and I thank Primus for your presence."

"Primus or a random multidimensionality flux that hit the jackpot," Jazz said, sighing against Prowl's helm and stroking back down along his neck. "What was the song?"

Instead of answering, Prowl cued it up on the audio system in the room and played the soft, slow dance music. It had been created for the dance and embodied in every note the slow, intimate slide of frame against frame with a simple pattern of steps and movements that repeated endlessly until the music ended or the couple left the floor.

"I like it," Jazz decided after listening for a few kliks. "Different from all the other music I've heard here."

"It belongs to a culture that had no place in war," Prowl sighed softly. "Polite society. Honestly most of those who might have listened or danced to such music are among the few the Nightbird carters to."

Jazz hummed thoughtfully. "I can see that." He nuzzled Prowl. "I'm happy to listen for as long as you'd like to leave it playing."

A flicker of gratitude caressed Jazz across their fields as Prowl settled to turn inward. He knew he'd mumble, he'd never managed to completely disconnect his vocalizer from his deep processing protocols, and for once he didn't bother muting it. Whatever Jazz might learn, he could know.

* * *

It was one of the strange quiet evenings when Jazz closed the Nightbird early, had everything cleaned up, and was back to Prowl's quarters--his quarters, he silently corrected himself--before his normal closing time. He palmed the door open, wondering if Prowl was inside or at Sideswipe's or called to work, and then paused when the air felt different. 

He wasn't sure if his entrance had been noticed, but if it hadn't been, whoever else was in here wouldn't find him now as he crept to the only direction light was coming from, in the berthroom. The moans were deep, resonant, full of pleasure and he immediately recognized one of them. Prowl was with someone, and enjoying himself.

Looking carefully around the corner, he immediately relaxed and even smiled slightly. Sideswipe was over, no danger. Jazz settled in to watch. He'd watched a couple of their pornos, just for educational purposes, and while there were elements that were undeniably erotic to him, most of it just wasn't. They just didn't interface in ways that he was intrinsically drawn to.

This though, _this_ went right to his spike. Prowl was on his back, helm flung back, lit optics bright but unseeing, mouth open and face claimed by the ecstasy of whatever the hardline connection to Sideswipe offered. Neither frame was moving much at this point, but Jazz could see the arousal building in the way electricity zapped between them where their frames contacted. He could tell from the lines in Prowl's frame that the mech _liked_ being the smaller of the pair and pinned down with his hands palm to palm with another, fingers interlaced and raised just a bit. Jazz had already figured out that this Prowl liked to be on his back, which was weird to him since his Prowl had hated it for the way it strained his doorwing joints. Right now, though, there was a certain _tilt_ to Prowl's armor and backstrut that looked different than anything Jazz had ever been able to elicit from him.

Suddenly _Jazz_ wanted to be the one making him tilt like that, and the _frustration_ of being trapped in the smaller frame made his engines growl. Low enough to be inaudible, but a growl. 

The longer he watched, the more aroused, and the more frustrated, and the more-- _disliking_ he became, and finally he had to tear himself away to sit and stare at something that was **_not Prowl_** getting fragged by Sideswipe. 

He wasn't jealous. He _couldn't_ be jealous. He didn't _get_ jealous. Pit, he had even tried to coax his Prowl into taking a second lover more than once. _He_ was responsible for this Prowl and Sideswipe getting together in the first place. He'd been okay watching them touch, caress, _knowing_ they were interfacing.

But this...

This made his engine run hot, and not in a good way. 

He wanted Sideswipe _out_ , and as vehemently as he wanted it, he knew that it wasn't his place to make that demand. 

The keen of Prowl's overload echoed through the apartment, swiftly followed by Sideswipe's higher pitched pleasure, then the straining of systems to cool, the ping of armor popping as it cooled, the humming rumble of two high-performance engines with very different designs overlaying it all as the pair gradually calmed down and relaxed.

Jazz struggled against a moan as he imagined the visual over the overload, but by the time he turned around again, he'd missed it, and he couldn't tell if he was relieved or frustrated. The charge in the air was still licking at him and his hand found his spike as he slid back down against the wall, helm back, wrist working rapidly up and down as he listened to the renewed sounds of pleasure. 

_He_ wanted to make Prowl sound like that. 

He wasn't jealous. 

He _wasn't_ jealous. 

He wasn't--

\-- _Prowl on his back keening for him and arching and spread-legged and rutting and all for him_ \--

The overload came fast and hard and Jazz had to grab his own throat and squeeze to silence the moan. His hand on his spike never stopped and the second time he overloaded he'd had enough warning to mute his vocalizer first, not that the lovers in the room so nearby would have noticed him. He was sure of that much. Prowl was utterly lost in a way that tactile just couldn't accomplish.

Then he heard chest plates unlock and slide open, and the moans intensified sharply.

Just to torture himself, he turned to look, and the sight made his spark _ache_. To see _that_ spark, that perfect, beloved, pale blue spark, so bright it was almost looked pure white in its brilliance, merging with another's...

...he was _jealous_. And his engines wouldn't stop growling, low and deep in his chassis.

The lovers were oblivious, too lost in the merge to hear such a quiet sound over their own systems and the cries of bliss. Even with his helm turned away Jazz could see the flash of light that marked the overload, and felt relief when he heard armor closing. He very quickly set himself to rights--armor settled, wiped down, everything closed up and field cooled off--before either of them could move from the berth. He was still riled on the inside, but there was nothing to be seen or teeked to give it away.

"That was amazing," Sideswipe mumbled with the sounds of two frames reluctant to move.

"Yes," Prowl purred, deeply sated and relaxed. "I wish you could stay."

"It's _your_ quarters," Sideswipe pointed out. "You can invite me."

"They are Jazz's quarters too," Prowl said firmly. "I shouldn't have given in. He and I share this berth. You and I share yours. It works."

Sideswipe huffed, shifted, held still for a long moment, then Jazz heard the sound of his wheeled pedes touching the floor. "Recharge well, Prowl."

"Recharge well, Sideswipe," Prowl replied before settling in and beginning to shut down.

Jazz debated for a moment, trying to decide whether to hide and let Sideswipe get out without realizing they'd been overheard, and then shrugged and stepped into obvious sight, leaning casually against the wall.

The silver warrior gave him a glance with a startled ripple of armor, then grinned. "Enjoy the show? That's what a _real_ interface is like."

"Who's there?" Prowl's barely-online voice called out.

"Just Jazz," Sideswipe called back.

"Got home early," Jazz added before focusing on Sideswipe. "You sound threatened, why is that?" he asked in a low voice.

Sideswipe cocked his helm, confusion flickering across his armor and field before he shrugged it off. "Keep telling yourself that," he said before heading for the door.

Jazz waited a beat, watching, and then, "Is it because you know that 'real' interfacing is the only one-up you have on me?"

"I have a lifetime with Prowl, and I care about _him_ ," Sideswipe shot back. "All you are is a reminder of the deactivated."

"You might care about him but I _understand_ him," Jazz said with a clear warning snarl. "Stay out of _my_ quarters."

"They're _his_ quarters," Sideswipe growled. "I can come in if _he_ invites me."

"They're also mine and he'll respect _my_ wishes that you keep out of them," Jazz growled back. "Even he _just_ said he shouldn't have let you in."

Sideswipe paused and regarded the small, boxy and smooth mech for a long moment as he slowly skated in a circle around him. "Can't take the competition anymore, Jazz? Just a few orns ago you were encouraging me to spend time with Prowl. Why change your mind so suddenly?"

Jazz's armor clicked and flicked defensively as he kept his gaze carefully on the warrior. "I didn't," he snapped, then gathered himself, field and frame both smoothing out. "I don't care what you do with Prowl," he said. "I just don't want it to be in my quarters where I have to come back and watch when I'd rather be resting."

Sideswipe chuckled, but didn't reply before leaving.

Jazz hissed softly in frustration that he'd been rattled that easily. _Him._ "Stupid," he muttered to himself in his language. "Stupid, fragging, glitch--" He walked into the berthroom, quieting as he looked at Prowl's recharging form, x-vented in resignation, and climbed up to curl up next to him and bask in his field. It was soothing when that field reached out to embrace him, even when the owner was deep in recharge.

* * *

Jazz pushed down thoughts of exactly why he'd made this appointment with Ratchet and Wheeljack and hoped that neither one would press him too much on the why, only the what. The what he was willing and ready to go in depth on. The way he was still avoiding himself.

Jazz did not do jealous.

He just didn't.

Yet there was no other way to describe his reaction to watching and listening to Prowl being with Sideswipe. Deep down Jazz even knew that it wasn't _Sideswipe_ that was the issue. Jazz wanted Prowl all to himself.

It just wasn't natural. He believed, very strongly, in free love, and the right of every being to enjoy themselves with any other consenting being, or beings. He'd interfaced with other mecha during his millennia-long romance with Prowl, he'd encouraged his lover to do the same, and he'd been more than a little responsible for the relationship between this Prowl and Sideswipe. To back out of that, to want otherwise, was hypocritical and just _not_ who he was and what he believed in. 

It didn't stop him from wanting it. 

"Hey, bot-doc," he greeted cheerfully as he walked into medbay.

"Jazz," the predominately white mech nodded and motioned him inside, then back to his office. "Wheeljack's going over your schematics."

"Yeah, thanks," Jazz said, following him. "So how much work would it take to get me completely upgraded to your systems, once we have the translation written?"

"Have you ever had a complete frame rebuild?" Ratchet asked, his tone serious as Wheeljack looked up and greeted Jazz with a flash of his helm fins.

Jazz cocked his head and raised an optic ridge as he gestured at himself in a silent, _Really, mech?_

"I'll take that as a yes," the medic huffed. "It'll be at least twice the work. Every system that can't be replaced will have to have a buffer installed that translates from our coding and energy to your native one and back again. At a minimum that'll be your processors and spark chamber. I'm fairly sure there will be more, but we won't know until we get in there and start working. I would slot no less than seven vorns and three dozen surgeries to do so safely."

Jazz let out a low whistle. "Wow, okay," he said, and nodded. "And you can work on cosmetics at the same time, yeah? So I can look as weird as the rest of you?"

"Cosmetics are easy," Wheeljack spoke up.

Ratchet nodded agreement. "That could be done in a couple orns."

"Great," Jazz said, grinning. "Let's do those with the last of the internal updates, and as much as possible, I don't want anyone other than you two knowing the extent of the upgrades. What about compatibility with your interface systems, will that be possible as soon as the rest of it is?"

"Interfacing for data should be simple once the software is written. Interfacing for pleasure will be much more difficult," Ratchet warned him. "We'll be able to short it out eventually, but it won't be soon, or without failed efforts."

"Good of a prognosis as I've ever heard," Jazz said with another shrug. He looked between them. "What about _my_ interface systems, they can stay, right?"

"If you want them to," Wheeljack nodded. "There's nothing I can find that indicates they would be a danger to you or anyone else, except possibly out of frustration. How is that toy Prowl asked me to build been working?"

"Excellently," Jazz purred unashamedly. "You get rave reviews from this 'Bot. I'd say you should go into the toy business if there was any kind of market for it."

Wheeljack lit up at the praise. "Thank you. I had a few new ideas, including one that would allow you to thrust into a lover, so long as they agreed to wear it. It's not quite as effective as the fake spike is since you'd have to lube yourself up first, but I think it might be enjoyable for you. It would likely make Prowl squirm less too, since he could make you clean it up later," the inventor chuckled. "He does hate a mess."

"I've noticed," Jazz grinned. "You're all a lot more ... _mechanical_. Which sounds weird to say when I'm a biomechanoid, but you mechs, you mechs are kinda crazy."

"You said it. We are mechanoids and you are a biomechanoid," Ratchet huffed. "It's the primary reason I'm estimating so much work will be required to bring you up to spec. Do you know how much additional mass your spark can support without straining?"

"Um," Jazz said, and played the question over several times in his processor, trying it with synonyms, different phrasing, and it still didn't make sense. "I guess the answer is no ... sparks don't have anything to do with mass," he explained. "Once they've fully matured. It's protoform that determines mass."

"That makes your updates much easier to plan," Wheeljack actually relaxed. "Will it bother you to have an additional ten to twenty percent mass?"

"Nah," Jazz said, shaking his head. "I can handle that easily. I'm on the smallish side right now." He cocked his head. "So tell me more about this thing Prowl can wear."

Wheeljack chuckled, his helm-fins flashing in good humor as Ratchet groaned. 


	11. Jealously is Unbecoming, but Powerful

Jazz lay purring on Prowl's chest, content to stay exactly where he was and feel the lingering energy from the tactile spark overload from his lover. "You think it's the same being?" he asked, musing over why he was here and what had caused it. "Primus, I mean. My Primus and your Primus."

"Having never touched your spark, I am uncomfortable making such a assumption either way," Prowl said cautiously. "The mythos do differ significantly, though there are also similarities."

Jazz hummed thoughtfully. "If it were the same being, and there were infinite realities that it spanned, the idea of it existing solely in the core of a planet would seem strange. And it seems more likely that it spans realities, or else whatever brought me here..." He trailed off, lifting his head. If Primus could see into other realities, and _affect_ them, bring him here, to _this_ Prowl... "I don't want to just 'face you," he said.

Prowl was still for a surprisingly long moment as his processors worked on all the implications of both statements before focusing on the second. "What do you want?"

"I..." Jazz said, frowning slightly as he looked into the strange face, metallic, exposed, jagged, so unlike everything he'd always considered attractive in a mech, nothing like the mech he'd once promised his spark to. "I guess I want to be more than just a comforting field. I want _you_ to be more than a comforting field, I want to get to know you, really _get_ you, understand you, be with you. I want to be _more_ than just interfacing."

Prowl hummed his understanding. "We have already begun," he pointed out quietly and reached up to caress Jazz's stubby sensor horn. "We talk far too much for this to just be interfacing. You _trust_ me too much for it to be so shallow."

Jazz tilted into the touch, rubbing against Prowl's hand. "You're easy to trust," he said. "I enjoy talking with you. It ... makes sense that we'd be more."

"It does," Prowl agreed. "There was less than a 3% probability that we would remain so casual after we agreed you would continue to reside here."

"You..." Jazz said, staring at him, as a grin slowly spread over his face. "You had a statistic for that. You _actually_ had a statistic for that."

Prowl looked at him blandly. "Of course I did. I have a statistic for anything I am willing to commit action to."

"Commit action to, huh?" Jazz asked, pushing himself up and leaning in to nip a kiss from the strange mouth. "So when you committed to the action of coming back to the room tonight what were the chances that I would drag you to berth?"

"If you were here, or arrived before I went into recharge, 83.994%," Prowl tipped his face down to claim a second kiss. It still wasn't something he was good at, or found erotic, but he enjoyed the little flutter it created in Jazz's field.

"Aaaand," Jazz said, fingers starting to dance over the chest armor more mischievously, "What were the chances I'd try to work you up for more?"

"Since we have only had one overload each, 99.7%," Prowl purred, his field shivering in anticipation of _more_ as armor locks came undone, though the armor did not part.

Jazz purred back, tracing the edges, then pulled his hands away. "So," he said, "You're good with this. With the more thing. Starting, or--letting it continue, whatever it is."

"Yes," Prowl said with complete conviction. "I am not inclined to resist what we are becoming."

"All right," Jazz said, nodding, as he tried to reconcile the dizzying idea of a _second_ love of his life--or whatever it was they were becoming, but if he looked too far down the road, that was all he could see. "Yeah. Good." His hands came back up and he touched their forehelms together in a brush that created the same shiver through Prowl's field that a kiss created in his. They even had a glyph for it here that they had translated into English as kiss, and Jazz was happy to think of them as the same, even if this one didn't send his spark racing in his chest. 

He could learn to like it. He was learning to like much harder things, and something that made Prowl shiver? That was easy.

"Mmm, I don't suppose you know about Wheeljack's latest project for you?" Prowl's harmonics took on a playful, somewhat teasing tone.

"I may have heard a thing or two but I haven't seen the thing," Jazz trilled. 

"Well, he brought it by my office today. It seems he was under the impression that I would be the one wearing it, so he wanted to make sure I understood how," Prowl leaned in for a light kiss. "Do you want to find out how well it works?"

"Uh, is that a _question?_ " Jazz asked as he nuzzled helms in response before leaning back, excitement radiating off him. "Okay so how's it work?"

Prowl rumbled in amusement and took a simple white rectangle the width of his palm, three times as deep and just thick enough for Jazz's spike. "It will magnetize to my plating. The opening is here," he slid the cover open to reveal a very convincing replica of Jazz's own valve exterior. "You will need to lube your spike, and then ... as Wheeljack put it, do what comes naturally? I expect some awkwardness as we work out what position and posture works best."

"Do you get to feel anything from it?" Jazz asked, taking it and rubbing his fingers curiously over the entrance. "He figure out any hook-ups?"

"Not yet, but it will be much neater, and feel better for you, than my fingers," Prowl said without shame. "Much like the false spike he constructed for you."

"We gotta get to making some gadgets for you, mech," Jazz said as he carefully placed the valve mimic on Prowl's pelvis. "Where's the..." He found the controls to engage the electromagnet, fixing it down to his plating.

"Your hands are quite enough," Prowl promised. "And with this, you can still use tactile on me until you are close."

Jazz hummed deeply as his engines gave a pleased rumble, leaning in to press his mouth to Prowl's chest, drawing his glossa slowly upwards until he reached the loosened seam at the top edge. "Your version of Wheeljack ever make things that explode at random?" he asked as he kissed his way across.

"Random, no. Intentionally he is very good at it," Prowl gasped sharply and pressed his chest upwards. 

"Oh good," Jazz said, with very real relief. "Wheeljack," he used his friend's original designation, "He made things blow up unintentionally all the time. I'd be _terrified_ to use this if he'd made it," he said with a laugh, teasing at the wires he could reach. 

"You had no such reservations about the other toy," Prowl moaned as he reached up to stroke Jazz's sides, then down to his hips so his thumbs could slide inward to tease Jazz's spike cover. "That one went _inside_ you."

"I'm sure I was _distracted_ ," Jazz purred as his spike cover slid back the moment it was brushed, already hot and ready. "And not thinking clearly. _Your_ fault, I bet. Better late than never." 

"Perhaps," Prowl moaned softly, anticipating the incredible feeling of Jazz's pleasure. His thumbs moved further inward to stroke the rim of the spike housing. "You were definitely distracted."

"Mhmm," Jazz said, humming and pitching the sound to Prowl's armor as his hips began to rock, ever so slightly. Prowl rubbed, and then circled, and he had Jazz moaning quickly. "Right," Jazz gasped when his spike extended, and pulled back to look at the contraption. "Let's see how this baby handles." 

Prowl was distracted enough himself to just barely catch Jazz's hips before he sank into the toy.

"What?" Jazz's visor locked onto him.

"The lubricant," Prowl reminded him.

"...Right," Jazz said, stopping, forcing his fuzzy processor to _think_. "Um, oops. I don't keep lubricant around." He looked at Prowl, trying to suppress a giggle. "Please tell me you have something."

"Why would I keep lubricant on hand?" Prowl asked with mild amusement, enjoying Jazz's laughter. "But you do," he moved a hand inward and down to tease Jazz's valve cover. "It just takes some work to get it out. We will get the proper viscosity from a medic tomorrow."

"Ah, _right_ ," Jazz said with a low moan that was quickly interrupted by another bout of giggling. "Let me do that, so you don't get sticky. Wanna watch me?" 

"Yes," Prowl purred and shifted to give himself a better view of his lover. "Your pleasure is enticing to watch."

"No matter how alien and messy?" Jazz teased.

"No matter how organic and messy," Prowl confirmed. "I have made a point of watching human interfacing vids to become more accustomed to the ideas."

"You are the craziest mech," Jazz said with a grin as he settled himself down onto the berth and spread his legs out, exposing his valve and tracing his fingers around the entrance. "You are the craziest mech and I really like you." 

"I have no doubt that sentiment has been directed at you on more than one occasion," Prowl chuckled. "Everyone likes you, and most think you are completely off your core processor, but they still like you."

The grin got wider. "I like it that way," Jazz said as he lifted his hips, dipping a single finger in and swirling quickly to test. "The double take, that's my favorite look to get." He moaned quietly. "I've gotten so many double takes here." 

"You would get many more if they had any idea what you've convinced me to do," Prowl continued the playful banter to help keep his attention on Jazz's pleasure rather than how it was being generated. "Fortunately no one would ever believe you if you told them."

"What, get your hands all sticky?" Jazz asked as he spread one hand out around his valve to rub the platelets while the other slipped its digits inside, easing in and out. Prowl could see them starting to slick. 

"My hands, my armor, that I would try something _new_ ," Prowl huffed. "Very few have any idea that what they interact with when I'm on duty is not what I am always like."

"I," Jazz groaned, back arching slightly, "Would not like you nearly as much if you were always like you are when you're on duty. Those mecha are ridiculous. _Frag_ ," he gasped, pulling his fingers out quickly and rubbing them on his spike until it was slick with the same lubricant. "Don't wanna stop but want to save the energy." He licked his fingers clean and struggled to prop himself back up. "Ready?"

Prowl settled on his back and spread his legs for Jazz to get between. "I am ready. I will use the other toy on you when your spike is sated."

"Kind, courteous, _and_ handsome," Jazz purred as he climbed between. "Okay, take two." He gripped his spike and guessed at the best angle, pushing forward, feeling carefully. 

"How is it?" Prowl asked curiously when Jazz didn't react except to cock his head. 

Jazz thought for a few moments, then gave an experimental rock. "It's nice," he finally decided, and rocked again. "Feels good to have something to push into." 

"Once you have acclimated, I can attempt to move if you wish," Prowl offered.

Jazz hummed and began to seek out a good rhythm. "Counter-thrusts are good," he said, and grinned as Prowl tried one experimentally. "Yes, perfect." He leaned forward and pressed his mouth back to his lover's chest, trilling. The moan he earned in response was deep and genuine, flaring arousal and desire through Prowl's field thick and hot. 

Prowl's hands came up to stroke Jazz's back, trying to return the pleasure as best he could. The roll of his hips was given over to a minor sub-processor that linked up with the data of Jazz's movements to guide it. The rest of Prowl's considerable focus was on his own pleasure and on touching Jazz.

Jazz slowly began lowering down onto Prowl's frame, pushing steadily at the false valve as he worked his fingers in, around, along his lover's armor. His ventilations increased slowly, never the rapid arousal that Prowl could elicit with his hands, much less the spike, but they did increase and eventually, Jazz was moaning with every drive. Hunched over Prowl, the angle awkward and strange, but pleasure was coming off him and feeding back into his lover's field.

It was electric for Prowl, to feel that pleasure as his own frame was stimulated. It wasn't as good as it could be, but he could _feel_ the difference to Sideswipe and understood it now. Skill versus desire. Sideswipe knew what he was doing far more than this Jazz, but Prowl _desired_ this more than a good interface. Deep in his coding, and processors, questions were asked and answered below the conscious level, ready to be presented when it was time.

When overload took Jazz, the smaller mech shouting and seizing and grinding their frames together, everything else faded out for Prowl as he sank into the bliss of this lover's ecstasy until Jazz collapsed forward. 

"I have some notes for Wheeljack," Jazz managed when it was over and he lay panting on Prowl's chest, "But overall ... a success."

"Good," Prowl purred, his entire frame trembling with a charge just short of enough to overload. He barely thought about it before his chest plates opened and he slid a hand up to caress his own chamber. Jazz's was immediately right alongside it, the smaller fingers better at rubbing along the textured crevices. Not the same way the claw edges could, but something about the smooth, warm metal always felt good. Different, but good.

"You're so beautiful," Jazz whispered, gazing at the spark, and Prowl heard _his_ designation in the subharmonics, not Jazz's lost mate's.

"Thank...." Prowl's moaned words were cut off by a keening cry of raw ecstasy as his helm flung back and mouth opened with the crackle of energy though his frame. The powerful overload danced through his circuits, a maelstrom of bliss that jumped to his lover's chassis at every point of contact until it was over and Prowl slumped, sated and panting under his lover.

Jazz touched their helms together and pressed his hand to the side of Prowl's face, sighing against him. "Recharge," he murmured as he slipped away to go clean up, engines purring softly the entire time at how smoothly Prowl obeyed. 

Trust.

Yes, trust was between them. Granted it was trust built between different frames, but it was there in their sparks and neither wanted to deny it.

* * *

Jazz sat in the berth he shared with Prowl, back resting against the headboard, knees pulled up and arms hugged around them as he stared at the wall, and waited. He was waiting for Prowl to come back. Right now, his lover was with Sideswipe. Since the time Jazz had caught the silver mech in his quarters and warned him away, Prowl had always gone over there, although Jazz knew that had entirely to do with Prowl enforcing the rule. 

Because he'd asked. After pushing Sideswipe to make a move, after reassuring Prowl to accept the advances, he'd asked for a restriction. He'd resolved to make no more, because it wasn't his place. He could change his relationship with Prowl all he wanted, but asking for changes in someone else's wasn't okay with him. 

Prowl had abided by the rules. 

Jazz wasn't sure he could stand much more. The images of Sideswipe and Prowl together hurt and he couldn't keep them from his processor. He was kicking himself for ever suggesting they get together. 

It was a long, agonizing wait, and Jazz's head shot up when he heard the door open, relief surging through him. Prowl walked smoothly into the berthroom, his frame relaxed and field still tingling from the overloads he'd enjoyed. That field, when it brushed against Jazz's, also echoed strongly of several spark merges in the past few joors.

"Jazz?" Prowl's voice was full of concern as he took in the small, unhappy mech on the berth.

Jazz perked and got up to his pedes, motioning to Prowl to lower enough for Jazz to jump up and latch onto him, legs around his waist holding himself up, arms looped around his shoulders. "I missed you," he said.

"So I can teek," Prowl said as he held Jazz close. "Today was not unusual."

"I know," Jazz said, nuzzling against him. "I just ... I missed you today. Shouldn't be weird to miss you."

Prowl hummed and walked to the berth to set Jazz down and settle onto the soft surface with him. "No, but this intensity is unfamiliar."

"Means I like you more and more, I guess," Jazz said, curling up with the larger mech and grinning at him. "C'mon, just tell me an exciting story from patrol or something."

"Hot Rod refused to obey the speed limits again," Prowl suggested one of the very few things that ever happened on his patrols. "Last decaorn I had to break up an overcharged fight."

"Don't you ever, like, I don't know, fight off planetary invaders with nothing but a pistol and a flask of high grade?" Jazz asked, pushing lightly until Prowl rolled onto his back and climbing on top of him.

It earned a chuckle. "Not since I was a junior tactician."

"So tell me one of those stories," Jazz said with a grin.

Prowl simply stared at him for a long half klik. "Jazz ... I was joking. There were neither planetary invaders nor high grade."

"Oh," Jazz said, and frowned at him. "What kind of war doesn't have planetary invaders and high grade?"

"Yours did not," Prowl pointed out. "Ours had even fewer planetary invaders, though likely more high grade. I never was one for getting overcharged."

Jazz huffed and lay his head back down on Prowl's chest. "We had high grade," he said. "No invaders. And I don't want you to be with Sideswipe."

He felt and teeked the surprise the statement created in Prowl as the larger mech processed that, then ran it through his processors again.

"What changed?" Prowl asked first, cautious of the surprise and rather dramatic change.

Jazz spent another moment kicking himself. "Didn't mean to be that blunt," he muttered, before lifting his head. "I don't know," he said. "I don't know and I know I don't have any kind of right to ask you to be with someone or not but I do know that when I know you're with him, I just--it _hurts_. More and more. So I'm not, I'm not demanding or even asking you to not be with him. I'm just telling you what I'm feeling."

Prowl held still, honestly at a loss as to how to deal with the situation. That was _his_ statement to make, but back before he had found any use for a second lover. Keeping up with one had almost been more work than he could manage. Keeping up with two had required that he make serious and somewhat painful changes to his priorities that he was still coming to terms with.

Exclusivity had long been his primary shortcoming, a side-product of his loyalty coding. Once he latched onto a leader, partner or lover, any kind of relationship really, he was loyal to a fault. His superiors, those he accepted at least, praised him for it. His subordinates were often loyal in return for his stability. But socially, it was a nightmare. It was too difficult for him to have friends, those of limited personal value. His loyalty and emotional coding was more a switch than the normal gradient.

Now he was faced with two mecha with equal standing and one was hurting the other in a way that Prowl could stop, but only at the cost of hurting himself and the other party.

"Was this true when you suggested that Sideswipe try to court my attention?" Prowl asked very quietly.

Jazz sighed. "No. I really, really wanted him to go for you so he'd stop growling at me. And I wanted you to at least get interfacing you enjoy, figured he'd be good for that."

"I do enjoy interfacing with you," Prowl objected, even though he knew full well what Jazz meant and that it was true. "Have I been ignoring you too much?"

"No," Jazz said quickly. "And before you ask me _why_ I don't know. Still trying to figure that out myself," he grumbled unhappily. "Never minded lovers having lovers. It's just frames and pleasure, life's too short and too risky not to get some whenever it's good."

Prowl paused again, then reached up to stroke Jazz's stubby sensor horn. "What is your life expectancy?"

"Don't really know," Jazz said. "I can last as long as my frame holds out, but without knowing what kind of maintenance I'll be able to get here ... I'm hardwired in to keep going until the damage is too great. I guess, if I'm never badly damaged and everything keeps working like it's supposed to, a few more millennia?" He shrugged. "I was young when the war started, and it almost wiped us completely out, so no one really knows what a peacetime life expectancy is for my build and generation."

Prowl hummed. "Did your Prowl ever take a second lover?"

Jazz huffed a laugh and his field tinted with the melancholy of remembering his love. "No. Stubborn glitch. Always told him he should relax and let someone frag him when I was gone for so long but..." He shook his head. "He'd just wait for me."

"Which made you feel as special as much as it frustrated you on his behalf, I believe," Prowl said gently. "I really should make you and Sideswipe sort this out yourselves, since you both want the same thing, but I anticipate that would lead to another murder investigation I would have to recuse myself from."

"Hey, I do know how to _not_ kill someone if I want to," Jazz said. 

"I know you do, but Sideswipe is not trained to," Prowl pointed out quietly. "He was created to be a warrior, designed to destroy and as dedicated to his blades as any mecha in history."

"I also know how to not get killed," Jazz said with mock insult before he sobered. "Just ... if you're gonna keep being with him, do it because _you_ get something from it, not to save him from anything. That's all I ask."

"I do enjoy his skills in the berth, but I enjoy your company." Prowl sighed softly. "Please try to work out what you need to be happy and tell me. I've given Sideswipe the same request."

Jazz stifled the frustrated, bitter protest that what he needed to be _happy_ was long gone, because as soon as the thought went through his processor, it met resistance. He didn't know that anymore. He had, once, but now... 

"I'll try," was all he said.

"Thank you," Prowl continued to rub his sensor horn in gentle circles. "While you process that, consider a triad arrangement."

Jazz field rippled with distaste. "Can't really say I'm gonna ever want him touching me."

Prowl paused, went over what he'd said and the reply several times. "A triad to you is always three mecha who are all mates?"

"Never knew any triads," Jazz said, propping his chin up in his hands and looking at Prowl curiously. "Knew of a few trines but Praxus was pretty enclosed and I never asked Prowl about it after it was destroyed."

"There are four primary forms, two of which still exist. The first is what you assumed; all three are mates and generally equals. The second is what I actually suggested, though I realize now that the harmonic differences are not ones you would recognize," Prowl apologized. "A mech may have two equal-status mates who are not mates to each other. The other, extinct forms pertained to the elite castes."

Jazz mulled that over for a few moments. "What were those ones?" he asked to buy himself more time to consider what Prowl was asking. 

"A mech may have two lower-status mates, or two equals may share a lower-status one," Prowl said. "It is a social status arrangement from a culture that simply does not exist anymore. Other variations exist, but they involve more or less than three mecha, or involve a host with symbiots. You do not need to decide if you are agreeable to a triad now. Simply keep it as a possibility to explore until you decide if it is agreeable or not."

Jazz nodded slowly. "How is the second one different from what we're doing now?"

"Status, certainty, rules. It is a closed relationship, unlike what we have now," Prowl explained. "It requires that all involved sign an agreement as to what the rules and penalties are. While there are norms, each contract is written specifically for those mecha."

"I ... would need to think about it," Jazz said slowly, and lay his head back down, ready for silence that Prowl willingly gave.

* * *

Jazz poked his head curiously around the entrance to the warehouse that Metroplex had told him Ironhide was in, looking for the weapons specialist, current maintainer of the small population's physical defenses and the trainer of the warriors, of which there were many. "Ironhide?" he called, not seeing anyone around.

"Yeh?" a deep rumble of a voice called back from behind a collection of primary weapon battery parts.

Jazz followed it, looking around to see Ironhide rummaging around in the internals of what looked like some kind of missile. "Got a klik?"

"Sure," the black giant grunted without stopping his work. "Wha'sup?"

Jazz sidled forward, trying to get a look at what he was doing. "You know the warrior class mecha around here pretty well, yeah?"

"I trained most of'm," Ironhide grunted, then made a triumphant sound directed at his hands, then lifted his head up to look at Jazz. "Who's hassling ya?"

"Sideswipe, but not like you're thinking," Jazz said dryly. "Need some advice."

"Right," Ironhide stood to his full height and focused on the small alien mecha that had done better at integrating into and improving their peacetime city than many locals. "Got something t' do wit' Prowl too, I bet. So what kind of advice do ya want from this old mech?"

"I'm sure you know that he worships Prowl," Jazz said, cocking his head up at the mech that would have been more than a rival in size for his lost Prime. Ironhide grunted, nodding once. "Hero worships him, fanatically. I want to redirect that and I need advice for who."

"Yer talkin' about changing the focus of a lifetime," Ironhide warned. "Sideswipe wasn't three vorns old when he latched onto Prowl and he's never let go. It won't happen quickly, even if there's a good match. Not many mecha that can challenge Prowl in a fight. None that can challenge his processors. Not in a way that Sideswipe could stand anyway. A couple of the scientists might be smarter, but none of them _fight_ ," Ironhide mused out loud.

"So a warrior for sure," Jazz said, frowning at the trouble of the processor strength. "Is he attracted to rank, skill, both?"

"Skill and good looks, which is good considering only the Prime outranks Prowl," Ironhide chuckled. "Speed too. Really, he's like most warriors. He wants someone who's good enough to stand at his side in the heat of a battlefield. He may not have the fight anymore, but the coding is still there for what he's going to find attractive. The two best options are not mecha I'd want him to hook up with." His voice drifted off as something occurred to him and he stilled to process it.

"Prime one of them?" Jazz asked lightly, trying to keep his voice innocently curious.

"Nah, I was thinking of Sideways and Barricade," Ironhide chuckled. "Both former 'Cons. Not the kind of coding ya want to expose Sideswipe to, but they're both good matches to distract him with. Longer term, I might just work, if I can impress him."

Jazz stared for a moment, then grinned. " _You?_ " he said. "You'd volunteer for that mech?"

"I like him," Ironhide shrugged. "I'm not a looker like he likes, but he is my type. Warrior and guardian from the wheels to the spark."

"You realize you're talking about shifting an obsession over to you," Jazz said. "You want him for life?"

"I'm well able to handle a youngling," Ironhide chuckled. "It'd be nice to have some attention. Not many are inclined to look at an old timer like me. Now, what were you thinkin' to wean him off your mech?"

"Rigging a race, or a fight, depending on who I found," Jazz said, considering the large mech, and realizing that in searching for a good match he'd overlooked the perfect one. "Sideswipe has been whining at Prowl to enter the sparring circuit for a few competitions, what do you think of conveniently being in the same one?" 

"There aren't many I don't enter," Ironhide laughed, a deep, rumbling sound. "It's what I _do_. I'm just not usually in the same class as Sideswipe."

"You don't have to be in the same class as Sideswipe," Jazz pointed out. "You have to be in the same class as _Prowl_. Does his mass qualify to be in with you?"

"Yes, and he fights in both style classes that I do," Ironhide grinned. "He won't even have to throw the fight. I _am_ better. Speaking of fighting, why don't we continue this during a sparring match? I haven't gotten a good feel for you yet."

"Not allowed to step on me," Jazz told him as he nodded in agreement and began to follow Ironhide. "And just so you know, if there's betting, I'm betting on Prowl."

"It's expected," Ironhide chuckled. "I wouldn't go to war against him, much less play Sovereign, but fighting is what I do. And I won't step on you. Ratchet won't tolerate serious damage. You keep that in mind too. I have no doubt you can kill. Never seen you _fight_ though."

"I'm sneaky and underhanded," Jazz warned him. "And trained to kill fast to conserve energy and reduce the risk of injury. So the longer a match goes on, the better your chance is of winning. If I'm going to win, it'll be fast. If you're going to win, it'll take a while."

"So what I'm used to with Jazz," Ironhide nodded and palmed open a door to one of the many training rooms scattered about Metroplex. "Have you watched me?"

"Nope," Jazz said. "Ironhide, _my_ Ironhide, he was a bit of a brawler. And a good mech," he smiled sadly as he remembered one of the many friends he'd lost.

"I brawl, I'm good at it," Ironhide grinned as he settled himself in a neutral stance on one side of the center ring. "I'm also fast and acrobatic when I have the space," he made a small motion around the room that could have served as training ground for gestalt teams.

Jazz raised an optic ridge in some disbelief that this mech could move in any kind of way that would be described as _acrobatic_ , at least in his definition of the word, but he'd also learned that to underestimate could be fatal. Or, in this case, embarrassing. He settled lightly on his pedes, scanning and watching. "So we get you into a match with Prowl," he said, taking one careful step to the left, one that Ironhide matched perfectly, even the distance that the much smaller frame moved. "You beat him, we repeat. You know Sides, what else?"

"It should be in both classes, and more than once, but he shouldn't lose all the time," Ironhide said firmly as he made a fast lunge for Jazz, only to land on one hand and swing the other at the last moment to swipe the much smaller mech when he dodged. "Sideswipe knows how good Prowl is. He knows fighting well enough to recognize an intentional fall. Prowl will have to make any extra mistakes carefully. I'll make a point of getting Sideswipe into training again, and bar hopping. I'll find out how easy it'll be to lure him to my berth and keep him coming back," he added as he flipped to his pedes while Jazz picked himself off the floor.

Jazz nodded and started for a lunge that turned into a feint at the last moment, trying to get a feel for just how fast Ironhide could move when pressed, and felt the brush of air from the claws just a little too close for comfort on his abdomen. He flipped backwards in a dodge, landing on his hands and then immediately reversing the momentum, shooting towards Ironhide pede-first, aiming to grab around his neck.

It was a bit of a shock that instead of ducking or dodging like any sane mech would, Ironhide straightened and took the blow to the chest, a place far too wide for Jazz to get a grip on. His fist was already coming down as Jazz impacted and tried to push away.

It glanced his side as he moved, quickly, and at the last moment he grabbed hold of the arm, striking at the elbow joint with his fist as he dropped his entire mass back, hoping to pull the large mech off balance. He knew the match was lost already. He hadn't won yet, so unless some miracle happened, he wasn't going to. All that remained now was to make Ironhide work for it. Somewhere in the back of his processors he'd always known this was a match meant to judge him on. Winning was far less important in the long run than showing his strengths.

Dodge and feint. Take a hit and roll with it. Try something new with each exchange. These were skills Jazz had and used shamelessly until Ironhide apparently had had enough and grabbed him by the ankle during an attempted kick, twisted him upside down and dropped him to the ground hard. Before Jazz could even collect his bearings he was under the mass of black metal and pinned.

"Yield?" Ironhide rumbled, even and calm.

"Yield," Jazz said, just as calm, looking up at the big mech that he suddenly had a new respect for.

Just as fast as Ironhide had pounced on him, Jazz was let up and offered a hand up. "You're better than I expected. I knew you were good, just coming from Ops, but you're a lot faster and more agile than that frame would suggest."

"Excuse me, look who's talking," Jazz said with a laugh, gesturing at the weapons specialist. "I'm _streamlined_ , thank you very much."

"If you say so," Ironhide chuckled. "You convince your mate to get into the fighting circuit. I'll work on getting Sideswipe's attention out of it."

Jazz nodded, then paused. "Mate?" he repeated, questioning the glyph.

"Why else would ya be feeling possessive enough to try and get rid of a lover that you barely ever see and treats Prowl very well?" Ironhide grinned knowingly at him. "I've seen it enough times to know what I'm seeing, and helping with. Have to admit, I like your way better than what usually happens."

"The other ways would end up with someone angry and probably deactivated," Jazz said with a shrug, then lifted his hand in farewell.


	12. Cultural Taboos

Jazz was in the middle of restocking the bar when the door chimed and he looked up to see Prowl walking in and he brightened in pleasant surprise. "Hey, what're you doin' around here this time'a day?" he asked, grinning at his lover. The time had once been Sideswipe's, but Jazz knew that the young warrior was going to be held late in one of Ironhide's classes this orn. Not that he was going to fess up that he'd known that for several orns prior.

"Sideswipe is busy, so I thought I would see if you were before I resorted to going back to my office," Prowl smiled as he walked up to the bar and claimed a seat across from where Jazz was working.

"As it turns out, I'm not," Jazz said, leaning across to nuzzle their helms together. "I hired Spoiler to help me clean up and close after Nimbus leaves so I'll be ready to go in half a joor."

Prowl hummed pleasantly. "I'm glad you're doing well enough to hire more help, and that you're giving buymecha a chance at something better suited to them."

"Spoiler's a good sort," Jazz said with a smile and a shrug. "Buymecha aren't all that different from anyone else, they just didn't catch the same breaks. Gonna keep him working in the back and after hours for a while, 'til he's comfortable and mecha stop giving him dirty looks."

"I know," Prowl smiled gently. "I saw enough of it as an Enforcer. One would hope that with so few of us left such prejudices would have fallen away. Regrettably it never happened."

"Takes time," Jazz said. "Want anything while you wait? I was thinking about taking a drive instead of heading right home, that sound all right?"

"I would enjoy that a great deal," Prowl purred, giving a distinct reminder that he had been built as an Enforcer and thus built to drive long patrols and love them. "Perhaps bring a cube along to have afterwards?"

"How about one to juice you up for a drive here, and one to take along to loosen you up for some fun later?" Jazz purred suggestively at him, hoping to coax his lover into what he saw as a small indulgence but knew that Prowl and a lifetime of war rations still couldn't help but see as excessive waste. It was the next step in a long process, but once he'd gotten Prowl to accept high grade he knew he could manage the rest.

There was hesitation, then a slow nod as Prowl caught the incorrect priority tree and corrected it yet again. The change would stay, eventually. "Very well. What would you suggest?" he offered to allow his mate to control the strength and value, knowing that right now he would not make a suitable choice.

Jazz hummed thoughtfully. "How about ... let's get you started with a fire tea for now, good for a kick, and then for later," he leaned most of the way across the bar to steal a quick kiss. "Later we'll get you all hot and bothered with some arsenic-infused magma."

Prowl shivered faintly at the treat offered for later, something he had long ago convinced himself he'd never have again. "You will spoil me," he murmured, somewhere between thrilled and shy.

"Yes, yes I will," Jazz said proudly as he disappeared to get the fire tea. 

Once Prowl had the drink, Jazz got flickers of enjoyment from him whenever he passed close enough to teek. He had to start focusing on getting ready to close, but he always took a few moments to enjoy the small smile on Prowl's lip plates when he glanced at his lover slipping the sharp heated drink. 

They left a little while after the club closed, Jazz bidding Spoiler a good orn, and set out on their drive. 

Prowl let Jazz lead, following after the alt mode that still looked so out of place on their world. They ended up at the small public park, a place that was in desperate need of someone to tend to it, but with so many more important tasks to be done and no one inclined, it was still rocky and barren. There were a few imported crystals, some sculptures and benches and a winding path, a large rock sculpture, but very little else. Jazz transformed into root mode and looked around, hands resting on his waist.

"It will be beautiful one orn," Prowl murmured as he stepped up behind his lover to slid his arms down across Jazz's chest. "For now, the effort is more important than the results."

"Mhmm," Jazz hummed, leaning back into the touch, then led Prowl over to the relative privacy of being tucked against the sculpture and turned in Prowl's arms. He jumped up into his favored position of being able to touch their helms together and steal the kisses that he enjoyed so much and that Prowl had gotten very good at. "Peaceful morning," he purred, delighting in how smooth and reflexive Prowl's catch and support of him was.

"It is," Prowl agreed when the kisses had shifted to resting their forehelms together. "A good morning."

Jazz's hands wandered down, stroking and exploring as he slowly began rubbing their frames together. His engines purred quietly, enjoying everything he could feel in Prowl's field, savoring the _excitement_ and _new_ that they still shared in moments like this. It could be intense, especially in Prowl. The mech simply had not had enough lovers to be used to learning a new frame, and more than that, the idea of getting emotionally involved was still a rush for both of them.

"Insatiable," Prowl rumbled, trying to hold in the moan that wanted to escape. Jazz knew just how to touch him to elicit a response, even in public. "Should wait for the berth."

"How come?" Jazz murmured against his neck, undaunted. "Not like anyone's watching, and besides, I've seen mecha 'face in way more exposed places."

"Mecha ... not me," Prowl shivered with a low moan of pleasure even as his field began to teek of distress. "Jazz...."

"Prowl..." Jazz trilled back imploringly, but he slowed what he was doing with a brief flicker of confusion at the distress. "Bothers you that much to be watched?"

"Yes," Prowl got his ventilations under control and began to relax. "It ... it's old, older than rationing. It is not appropriate for an Enforcer, much less an officer, to be out of control in public."

Jazz hummed quietly and his fingers stopped what they were doing and moved to Prowl's wrist, guiding his hand over to his pelvis. "What about me, am I allowed to be out of control?" he purred. "You could think of it as a public service..."

"So ... so long as you don't get it on me," Prowl agreed with a quiver and rub of his fingers on the sensitive metal.

"Aw, lover," Jazz said with a delighted rev. "Definitely won't get it on you." He grinned and shivered at the next stroke. "Normally I'd say you should swallow if you didn't want it on you but--mmm--I doubt you'd enjoy that either."

"I'll take your word on that," Prowl captured a quick kiss and shifted his grip to set his lover down.

Jazz settled back against the rock with a low moan as his frame relaxed into the gentle touches on his cover. He let it slide away and his vocalizer caught and clicked when careful clawtips brushed over the barely-visible tip. "Been craving this all day," he said with a grin.

"My fingers, or being on potential display?" Prowl asked as he arranged himself to Jazz's side where it would be easy to touch but stay very much clear of the spill.

"Mm, your fingers, but I do have a--" Jazz arched up with a gasp, "--a love of being on display, potential or not."

"I see," Prowl hummed as he circled the sensitive tip with his fingers, even teasing the inside of the transfluid channel with the very tip of one claw. "You know there are no laws against making a display of yourself, or charging for it. Though I'm not sure much of your potential audience would find this exiting."

Jazz grinned. "Based on how erotic I find your interfacing methods, which is very little, I'm pretty sure I couldn't even pay mecha to watch. Thrill's always fun though," he purred as he extended against Prowl's hand, and then groaned at the first stroke. "Don't have a glove, huh?"

"You'll just have to clean my hand off if you get anything on it until we can get home," Prowl told him, feigning more annoyance and distaste than he really felt, though he did still find the sensation less than enjoyable. Despite that he closed his fingers around the shaft as it extended and stroked, long and slow, as it finished pressurizing.

Jazz hummed deeply and began rocking his hips in an even rhythm against Prowl's hand, visor flickering, head back and lips parted just barely as he basked in Prowl's field and the sensations from his claws. "I can do that," he managed. "'S easy."

"Good," Prowl rumbled, aroused by the pleasure and arousal in his lover's field far more than any associations with the act. That pleasure was intoxicating to him, and he found himself hard pressed not to enjoy it. Anything that made Jazz feel this good was a good thing, and Prowl put his focus on his stroke and rubbing his fingers along the smooth metal skin that contained so many sensors. Every other stroke he'd pause to rub his thumb around the tip, than drag it along the shaft on the way down before closing his hand fully for the upstroke.

It made Jazz whine and moan and press against him as the smaller mech slowly lost himself to the building charge. Prowl was content to move slowly and fully enjoy the gasping intakes, the shivering frame, the hips that pushed against his hand so easily. If his lover was going to have strange, alien systems, at least they were easy to stimulate. 

Jazz warned him before he overloaded, one hand shooting up to his mouth to bite down on a finger, muffling his shout out of some vague presence of mind that Prowl didn't care for being in public like this. It gave the bigger mech more than enough time to keep his hand clear as Jazz spilled transfluid out onto the ground and then slumped back, panting happily. A careful, exploring teek took in Prowl's emotional state, and then his arousal. "Think I know where we're going now," Jazz purred.

"Oh yes," Prowl rumbled, nearly a growl as he claimed a hot kiss, then pressed their forehelms together as his field lapped at Jazz's. "Our quarters. Now." He pulled away and transformed, taking advantage of the lack of traffic to push his speed to the legal limit, but even now he obeyed those constructs, even when Jazz began to lick their fields together from behind in a decidedly flirtatious and suggestive way. In public, he was every bit the controlled officer he'd been built to be.

The moment the door closed, though, was a different story. Jazz's hands went right to his frame, stroking through the wires, warm and smooth and knowing exactly which joints to go for to make Prowl moan and buckle and almost not even make it to the berth. The larger mech shuddered as he tumbled forward onto the soft surface face first, his knees coming down on the ground and his arms spread before him, gripping into the berth as he keened and his field lashed out, thrusting deep and hard into Jazz with all the pleasure and energy the small mech was generating.

Jazz shuddered and Prowl heard the sound of a panel unlocking, but not that of it sliding back, before a glossa worked into the back of his neck cables while one hand sought out a wheel and squirmed into the spokes. The other went down to Prowl's hip and pushed into the joint there, fingers grazing over the ball within as the frames pushed and ground together. Jazz's armor was heated, the field alive with enjoyment, and the fingers were dancing into their chosen targets. "Second in command of the Autobots, and I can bring him to his knees," the small mech purred.

"Willingly," Prowl gasped, his voice more static than sounds as his helm dropped to offer better access. His entire frame was trembling, right on the edge of an intense overload when Jazz's glossa pressed deeper into his neck cables.

That was all it took and Prowl keened, his frame pressing back against the heated one with him, trying to offer enough of his charge to trigger his lover's overload on reflex. Jazz accepted it gladly, purring and armor sizzling with the heat, while he continued to work Prowl's frame over until the last lines of static finished crackling through the air. "You are _so_ fraggable sometimes," he chuckled.

"For ... someone ... who doesn't ... find this ... erotic, you do ... it very well," Prowl panted, still quite disoriented by the intensity of his overload and quite intent to not move for at least a few kliks.

"I have a reputation to uphold," Jazz said with a rev against him. "Never backed down from a challenge in my life and I'm always _fantastic_ in berth." He grinned and nuzzled against Prowl's neck. "You're the trickiest ever, just makes getting it right better."

"I do hope that you don't ... give up on this skill after ... learning of my upgrades." Prowl murmured, beginning to relax as he cooled and his systems began to balance.

Jazz's focus sharpened. "What upgrades?" he asked, and when Prowl didn't answer immediately, twisted his fingers in under the loose plating to tease and tickle. " _What_ upgrades!"

"Help me onto my back on the berth and I'll show you," Prowl chuckled, squirming at the sensations.

Jazz jumped up and back, tugging playfully at Prowl's arm and pulling him along with him onto the padding. It forced Prowl's sated, lazy systems to actually move, at least until he could lay down and look up at the small, insistent mech that came to perch on his chest and stare down at him.

"You're facing the wrong direction," Prowl chuckled as he unlocked and opened the covers to his new spike and valve assembly.

Jazz twisted at the waist, looking for the source of the sound, then perked and did indeed turn around, moving back to look closer, visor brightening dramatically. "Oh..." he said, looking at the structures that he could tell had been originally modeled after his own, but had their own design to them. "Do you get feeling from them?" he asked, buying time to get over his shock.

"Perhaps not quite as much as you do yet, but yes," Prowl smiled at the reaction. "They are very sensor-rich."

"Wow," Jazz said, brushing his fingers over the spike housing. "Wow, I don't know how ... What about lubricant, transfluid?"

"The valve has a reserve of lubricant of similar properties to your own that it excretes on command. While Wheeljack said something about transfluid, it is not yet part of the system. Apparently 'release on overload' is a more complicated command than I had believed. It will still expel a significant change when I overload, as will the valve," Prowl explained as best he could. 

"And you're _okay_ with having lubricant excreting from you?" Jazz asked in some awe, circling his fingers around the center iris that covered the spike when not in use with some fascination.

"More okay than I am with having transfluid squirted into me," Prowl admitted honestly. "I will adapt with experience and learning how to clean up efficiently. I survived battlefields and being a first responder. I can deal with this."

He could feel Jazz practically quivering with excitement. "This is going to sound strange ... but first things first, I really, _really_ need to go down on a mech."

"I have no idea what you mean," Prowl told him evenly. "However, you may educate me with your actions."

"You didn't download sexual slang of the twentieth century with all the rest of that English?" Jazz asked with a grin before he lowered his helm down and pressed his glossa against the housing, teasing and asking Prowl to open.

"Some of it," Prowl moaned in surprise and pressed his hips up. The protective cover of the housing spiraled open to expose the deep golden bronze tip of Prowl's spike. "There is more sexual slang than actual language in that dialect."

Jazz snickered. "Ain't that the truth," he said, x-venting experimentally and reveling in the shudder it produced under him. "Temperature sensors _should_ translate heat into pleasure."

"They do," Prowl gasped out. "That much is true for everything once interface protocols are engaged."

"Any difference in these?" Jazz asked curiously as he x-vented again and then licked around the tip, swirling his glossa. "Denser sensor net, more signal, anything?"

The way Prowl's hips jerked up, surprise almost as strong as pleasure in his field, was a good answer while Prowl struggled to find his linguistic protocols again amongst the onslaught of pleasure from an entirely new source.

"Take that as a yes," Jazz purred with delight and wrapped his mouth around the tip, coaxing and testing the extension reflex. It was different than any other spike he'd seen or felt, which was only to be expected, but Wheeljack had taken thorough scans of him and those had apparently been incredibly helpful as a base design. He lifted his head and grinned, brushing his fingers up and down the exposed shaft. "Maybe they'll catch on."

"M-maybe," Prowl shivered and gasped, his optics bright and hands straining fists in the effort not to grab his lover as he quickly heated up again. "More, please."

Jazz was all too happy to oblige and lower his mouth fully down onto the spike, moaning as it slipped into his intake and squeezing around it. He'd missed this. Oh, _Primus_ he'd missed this. Feeling a lover's pleasure, purring and enjoying knowing that he was the sole cause of it. The way Prowl gasped and squirmed under him, trying to keep from thrusting and still take in everything that was happening all at once. It was fun, too, knowing that he was the very first to touch and give this pleasure to Prowl, and no matter how often Prowl shared with others, _this_ would always belong to _him_. And that was a thrill. 

He ran through all of his tricks--humming, swallowing, squeezing with his intake, silent vibrations through his frame--all of them designed to do nothing but drive Prowl's sensor net into the kind of overload that could only come from _this_. He was immediately grateful that he had so many vorns of experience in reading Prowl's charge, because the overload came fast and hard and with no warning for either of them. 

With a roar that echoed how startled he was, Prowl's hips jerked up and his processors whited out with bliss far faster than normal. For Jazz, energy surged around the spike, into the plating of his mouth and intake as well at into the plating at every point where he was touching Prowl. There was no rush of fluid, but there was no question that he'd just overloaded Prowl's spike and done it well.

Jazz moved up slowly, lips pulling evenly along the length, coaxing out every joule of pleasure that he could manage before lifting his head with a grin. "So that was fun," he said. 

"Yes," Prowl gasped, still rather dazed. "Felt very good."

"Glad," Jazz purred at him, climbing up to cuddle against him, engines humming contentedly as he basked.

Prowl wrapped his arms around Jazz, happy that the mech was content and that what he'd done without asking had been so well received. "How may I pleasure you?"

"That _was_ pleasure," Jazz sighed happily. "Missed doing that so much. Thank you." 

"You are welcome," Prowl rumbled, happy that Jazz was and more than willing to relax into a sated recharge now that he was sure his lover was satisfied as well.

* * *

It was late afternoon and Jazz was driving into the club to start opening in time for the evening crowds, and he was completely distracted by all the wonderful memories of the last several orns of exploring Prowl's new systems. He still couldn't quite believe that the other mech had gone to those lengths to transform into something that Jazz found erotic and intensely desirable. 

And oh how he'd been enjoying himself, and teaching Prowl how to enjoy himself. His spark was thrumming happily in his chest at all the many, many memories. _So_ many memories. Hot, delicious, charged up _molten_ memories. 

As he drove, though, he was starting to focus his attention outward again, and he was becoming concerned. Fields that he passed were cold, he was getting looks that he hadn't gotten since his first decaorns. Mistrustful, judgmental. 

When he turned the corner to get to his club, his engine skipped and his lines ran in cold shock. Wreckage littered the street and he raced over to the front, transforming to see the windows smashed in, vapor pouring out through them. The door had been wrenched away, and there was a single, giant glyph painted on the front. 

Jazz didn't know that glyph and a quick scan through the language databases he'd amassed with Metroplex's help brought up nothing. Mecha were watching him--pretending like they weren't, from where they drove by, from walking nearby--and no one was coming over.

"Prowl," Jazz said, voice low and quiet into the radio that he was using to communicate until he had internal comms. 

"Jazz?" came Prowl's curious answer. 

"How would you feel about swinging by the club?" 

"I am on patrol, Jazz." 

"Yeah that's..." Jazz cleared his vocalizer out, approaching cautiously, all of his scanners running on full force. There was acid inside, fumes from half a dozen concentrations of it, on top of concentrated reaction fumes to indicate that there would be extensive damage. "That's kind of why."

There was a brief pause on Prowl's side as he accessed the extended security systems of the outer city and his engine growled. "Do not enter. Do not touch _anything_. Record all who are around you," Prowl instructed firmly. "We will be there shortly."

 _We?_ Jazz wondered, and frowned that Prowl would think there was even a possibility that he _wasn't_ recording everyone around him already--and then reminded himself that this was _Prowl_ , who was so much like his mate that Jazz should have anticipated the instruction. He did, though, obediently turn his head around to look again, focusing on each mech he saw for several moments before looking back to the club.

He continued that as he heard sirens approaching, and spotted a tiny aerial symbiot circling above, soon joined by another. One dove, sliding smoothly through the open door before it promptly let out a distressed squeal and nearly slammed into Jazz in an effort to get back out and away from the fumes. 

The first mech on the scene Jazz remembered both from his early interrogations and the trials. Tailgate was a good mech, much like the one Jazz had known before. Annoyingly dedicated to the morals of his function, he as often teased about being a mini Optimus Prime. Right now, Jazz couldn't think of a mech other than Prowl that he'd want to be in charge here. Right on his tail were three of the Protectobots.

First Aid, a mech just as large and heavy as Ratchet but with a field that made him feel as safe and delicate as a small symbiot, went right for Jazz and the wheezing aerial symbiot clinging to him. Hot Spot went to work ensuring it was safe enough to enter the building to investigate while the two cops began examining the scene.

First Aid chided Graphy gently for diving right into a crime scene like that before shifting his focus to Jazz. "Are you damaged at all?" 

Jazz shook his head and hung back, watching the scene unfold and waiting for Prowl. They'd all glanced at him after seeing the front of the store, in a way that seemed more related to the graffiti than the extensive damage.

Slamdance arrived next, which was no surprise since this was probably the news of the vorn, but dutifully hung back out of First Aid's way while the medic tended to the symbiot trying to clear its vents of acidic fumes, least he be sent away from the news.

"What happened?" Tailgate asked once First Aid had taken Graphy away.

Jazz shrugged. "You know as much as I do," he said. "Got here and..." He waved his hand at the wreckage. "Haven't seen anyone suspicious, haven't gone in."

"The acid was dumped between six and eight joors ago," Hot Spot reported as he came out and allowed Streetwise to enter.

"Where were you at that time?" Tailgate asked calmly.

"Recharging," Jazz said. "In my quarters, with Prowl." He was with a mech who was curiously absent at the moment. There wasn't even the sound of his sirens coming.

"And you contacted him first on your arrival here?" Tailgate asked.

"Yes." Jazz frowned, shifting uncomfortably on his pedes. He wanted to ask after Prowl, but he didn't want to seem clingy or obsessive or incapable of handling this on his own. "I know he always has a radio on the correct channel, he was the best bet for getting help."

"Do you have any ideas who might be responsible?" Tailgate asked before glancing beyond Jazz briefly.

"No," Jazz said, twisting around at the waist to see what Tailgate was looking at and finally saw Prowl. "I mean--fragged off Riptide with that sentencing, but he's in jail..."

Tailgate nodded his understanding as Prowl walked up. "That's all for now. Please do not enter until we are finished inside."

"Yeah, a'course," Jazz said, looking to Prowl, watching his expression as he took in the scene. It was tight in that way Prowl got when he was furious to the point of violence and didn't have a target handy, but there was a shift to a look Jazz wasn't sure of when yellow optics locked onto the glyph scrawled large and sloppily across the front.

Prowl's focus snapped to Jazz. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," Jazz said, cocking his head and frowning slightly at him. "Well--other than _this_ ," he waved his hand at the damage, "And not having a way to keep up an income suddenly, but yeah, I'm undamaged. What's..." He couldn't even pronounce the glyph, and so far had not located it in any of the records he had of this language.

Prowl refused to say it, but it made his engine snarl in a way that caused the closest bystanders to all but scramble back. Jazz was close enough to teek that weapon systems were coming online, too.

Jazz stared at him, and he was starting to think that he'd found the reason for the strange looks. "Want me to ask Metroplex instead?" he ventured, trying for _calm_ and _soothe_ with his field.

Prowl's white hands clenched tightly as he brought himself under control, though his armor was still quivering in an audible warning of raw fury that not even the destruction of his home city had managed to garner.

"Prowl." The deep, low rumble of Optimus Prime's voice brought the display under control, but little else. "I believe you should take the rest of the orn off duty and see to Jazz. Thank you for recusing yourself before you arrived on the scene."

"It would be inappropriate for me to investigate this crime when there are honorable officers less emotionally involved," Prowl responded stiffly and put a hand on Jazz's arm. "Let's go. There is nothing to be gained here."

As they walked past the Prime, Jazz only barely concealed his shock at the rage radiating off the giant. It was held close to his plating, but it was undeniably there.

He waited as long as it took for them to get out of hearing range. "What _is_ it?" he demanded.

"For lack of a better translation, 'organic mimic,' but it really means traitor to your race, to our kind." Prowl answered quietly. "It's the deepest insult from before the war. It was clearly meant that way again."

"Derogatory," Jazz said. Prowl nodded. "But organic mimic? Why..." He trailed off. "...Oh."

"Someone saw. Someone learned who hates you enough to try to destroy your future," Prowl had to work not to growl. "I do not believe they had any idea just who they were going to anger in the process."

"Are ... systems similar to an organic's _that_ bad?" Jazz asked, bewildered. "They're just ... _everyone_ has them--had them-- _whatever_ \-- Wheeljack didn't think it was strange, he never even looked twice."

"He did a good deal more than look twice," Prowl pointed out as they continued to walk. "There are two sets of viewpoints on aliens. Those that find the new and different to be interesting, or at least easy to adjust too, and those who find them threatening and thus undesirable. There are more of the latter than the former."

"What happens if mecha find out that you got the same kind of equipment?" Jazz asked.

"I have nothing they can take in such a manner," Prowl pointed out quietly. "My quarters are in Metroplex, as is my work. I answer only to the Prime and the law itself, most of which I wrote, and I work for the government. If a group wishes to assault me for it, I will deal with that when it comes."

Jazz nodded, unsettled. "Systems like mine, they're considered ... dirty? Wrong? Betrayal?"

Prowl had to process the question a bit. "Betrayal."

"Okay," Jazz said, nodding, and sounding steadier than he felt. He walked several steps in silence. "How's it pronounced?"

Prowl's field pulled in tightly. "Not out here."

" _Really_ bad glyph," Jazz said, staring at him. 

Prowl nodded once, tense. 

Jazz watched him, then focused on walking quietly for a few kliks, processor racing. Out of nowhere, he looked up with a grin. "Hey, guess this frees up my evenings a bit, though."

"You are not going to reopen?" Prowl glanced at his lover with a flicker of concern. "Metroplex can make a space for you."

"Gonna see what the total damage is and if I can rebuild," Jazz said. "I like _that_ space."

Prowl ruffled his armor in approval as they crossed the boundary into Metroplex's frame. "The culprits will be found. I am reasonably sure whatever space you reopen in will never be unguarded again. Blaster and Mirage are both rather ... displeased ... at this turn of events."

"Constant guard would discourage business," Jazz said, but he wasn't arguing. 

They were almost through the gates when an engine rev from behind drew their attention, followed by a loud shout, " _Perfuga!_ " that made Prowl's armor flinch and his engine snarl as he whirled, and took a step forward in the beginning of a pursuit. 

"Stop, you're off duty!" Jazz said, and grabbed Prowl's arm, pulling back. " _Stop._ "

Even though Prowl had more than enough physical power to pull away, he didn't. He was shaking, his armor visibly vibrating from his engine and anger, but he whirled around to collect Jazz and move off in a motion that spoke volumes to the small mech of how much this was rattling his lover. The Praxian was afraid _for_ him.

"That gets added to the harassment list _tonight_ ," Prowl growled to himself.

"That was it, then, that glyph?" Jazz asked quietly.

"Yes," Prowl had to struggle not to growl as he hurried Jazz along. Even here within Metroplex's frame Prowl no longer felt safe and to no surprise it was making him aggressive.

Jazz was silent the rest of the way, moving as fast as Prowl pushed him to, aware that he had more than a dozen open comm lines but unable to listen in on any of them. They made it to their quarters without further incident, and Prowl all but pushed Jazz inside and commanded the door to lock as soon as they were in. 

"I did not anticipate this extreme a reaction," Prowl admitted, distressed and embarrassed by what had happened. "Not with how many former officers openly support you."

"Former _Autobot_ officers," Jazz said. "It makes a difference." He huffed and crossed his arms under his bumper. "Everyone already knew my systems are incompatible, it matters _that much_ what form they take?"

"I did not believe it would," Prowl almost cringed back. "I would have never exposed you as I did if I believed there was any credible possibility of this strong a reaction. Some mecha may not be reacting to your systems, but the glyph itself."

"Hush, I'm trying to get you to tell me that my spike is cause for mass hysteria," Jazz said, grinning. "Give a mech an ego boost here, yeah?"

Prowl gave him an odd look, one of complete confusion mixed with the acceptance that came from being on the 'it's a Jazz thing' list. "You can make me roar readily enough with it," he did his best to come down from the emergency high he was still operating under.

"It's a start," Jazz gave him, cocking his head up at the taller mech. "I'm not gonna get to go out unescorted for a while, am I." 

Prowl drew in a deep draught of air and let it out slowly. "I will not demand it. I would ask that you have someone with a live comm with you if you leave Metroplex."

"Thank you, Prowl," the deep booming rumble of the metrotitan's voice echoed in the room with a low hum under their pedes.

Prowl's armor gave a flick of acceptance. "You have never been anything but protective of your residents, Metroplex. Even of the humans and prisoners."

Jazz nodded his understanding and agreement, then focused on Prowl. "Don't ban it."

"Its sole purpose is to cause hurt and divide us," Prowl countered. "It would have been listed if any of us believed there were still mecha who might use it. _Mirage_ even thought it was dead."

"Banning it gives it strength," Jazz argued. "If you ban it mecha will _know_ it can hurt, and they'll use it that way. The more attention you pay to it, the more power it has."

"To ignore it is to accept their right to continue to insult to hurt and divide." Prowl lifted one hand to press fingertips to his chevron's shield with an obvious processor ache coming on. "I will withhold action. You will need to debate this with Prime in the morning when he has calmed down. His social processing capacity will produce the best response. This debate is outside my social predictive capabilities."

Jazz cocked his head, opened his mouth, then closed it and nodded. "All right, I'll hash it out with Prime. Are they finding anything? I put a lot of fragging work into that place."

"The acid will be simple to trace. The suspects will be relatively simple to narrow down to those outside Metroplex at the time of the attack," Prowl relaxed as the questions entered into something he was good at. "The paint used for the graffiti can be traced, and the suspect list can be prioritized to those who of an age and origin to know what it means. There is surveillance in the area. While it did not record the incident, the combined data will make a conviction very likely."

"Good," Jazz said, and finally allowed his engine to growl now that he was starting to calm down enough to be _angry_ about the entire thing. He shifted his weight one way, then the other, and started to pace. "Damn it, _damn it_. I just restocked _yesterday_."

"You will be able to recoup upwards of the full cost from the perpetrators now that you are a citizen," Prowl suggested, watching his lover pace. "Given the glyph, they will be hard pressed to prove this was not a hate crime. Those carry severe penalties here."

"And if they don't even have that much?" Jazz asked, and rubbed at his helm. "Took me forever to find some of those rarer flavors. I had a new line of mixes to bring out..." He trailed off, shook his head, looked at Prowl. "Will I realistically be able to have any kind of business anymore?"

"If you are willing to put the work in, if your suppliers will still do business with you," and the rumble of Prowl's engine spoke of painful consequences if they backed out now or otherwise tried to screw with his lover. "The finances can be found. You proved the concept worked and was profitable. The demand for such a location is still there if the chatter on the higher-security comms is anything to go by. The Nightbird was never a club for commoners."

Jazz nodded, stopped moving, and sighed. "Let me know any updates as you hear them?"

"I will," Prowl extended his hand in offer to his lover. "We will know a great deal more by dawn."

Jazz sighed, walked over to take the hand, and allowed himself to be pulled in against Prowl's chassis and held there. "Glitches," he muttered as he allowed Prowl's field and strength of frame to comfort him.

"Tailgate and Streetwise are both exceptional Enforcers and investigators. They will not stop until they uncover the truth. I would want no one else to investigate on my behalf, and no one to be on my trail less," Prowl told him quietly. "Do ... would you like to get overcharged and 'face until you're unconscious?"

Jazz huffed a laugh. "I see I have one more thing in common with Jazz." 

"I am not surprised," Prowl gave a low x-vent. "I am sure there is sufficient high grade in the berthroom by now to make you regret it when you regain awareness."

"That is _exactly_ what I want to hear," Jazz said, turning and leading Prowl that way. "I apologize now for any incredibly embarrassing mistakes I make. Like missing the hole on the first few tries."

"So long as you do not seriously damage someone, I will not call Ratchet," Prowl promised, though he pointedly said nothing of not teasing his lover about it later, and he knew that Jazz would never ask him not to.

* * *

Sideswipe had heard about it of course. In a community of less than 1700 it was impossible for that kind of news not to hit everyone's feed within a breem and even now, three and a half orns later, it was still the top story. The latest news: Jazz was now allowed inside to salvage anything he could and inspect it on his own. To be perfectly honest, Sideswipe felt sorry for the perpetrators if Jazz and Prowl figured it out before the detectives did. Those two were capable of a lot more than most gave Prowl credit for. Sideswipe had seen it though, on the battlefield and in those amazing processors. He _knew_ what Prowl was capable of if pushed far enough.

He still wasn't entirely sure what to make of _everyone's_ refusal to tell him what that glyph on the front meant, but that told him enough about the grade of insult it was intended to be. The simple fact that Ironhide had backhanded him halfway through saying it when he was trying to ask was enough to prove it was hard core serious. Sideswipe hadn't thought the old warrior cared about _any_ glyph with that intensity. Ironhide was weathered and practical. Blasters hurt, glyphs were harmless.

He had some time, and while he had been considering using it to find Prowl before his patrol, Sideswipe eventually found himself driving to the destroyed Nightbird to take in the damage himself. With how big a story it was, he wasn't all that surprised to see Optimus Prime himself glaring at the curious mecha who looked at the mess with a mixture of expressions.

It had been cleaned up, but he could tell where debris had been on the ground from the shattered windows and the remnants of the melted door were still hanging in the frame. After giving a 'promise to be good' brush of his field against the Prime's in response to the low warning rumble, he was allowed to poke his head around and whistled long and low when he looked inside. 

It was a mess. Melted metal everywhere, mangled tables that couldn't be removed from the floor anymore, walls dripping with corrosion. The entire space had been detoxed and cleansed enough to be safe, but it was still a shocking sight. 

The sound caught Jazz's attention and the small mech popped up from behind the bar, glaring at him as soon as he made the identification. "We're closed for repairs."

"I can see that," Sideswipe rumbled. "How long?" he asked, trying to be supportive. They might be competitors for Prowl's affections, but Jazz in no way had deserved this. Pit, the officers that enjoyed it so much didn't deserve it either. Just because Sideswipe liked the rougher bars didn't mean he was oblivious to how much _better_ things had gotten since the officers had a place to chill in a way they liked.

Jazz huffed and looked around at the mess. "Metacycle, if I can get all the contractors to work with me again." He paused for a moment with a bit of a smile, and Sideswipe knew that Prowl and Optimus had both assured him of that fact. "Needs to be gutted and built from scratch, but at least this time I know what it should look like."

"It'd probably be easier to just scrap the building," Sideswipe grumbled as he skated a bit further in over the uneven floor. "Did anybody explain what the graffiti was?" he asked, his voice unusually quiet.

" _Perfuga,_ " Jazz said, stopping what he was doing to devote all his attention to Sideswipe. "Means a mech that's betrayed his race by becoming organic, or adopting organic mannerisms. Also a mech that desires organic sexual encounters, or who mimics organic sex in some way." He grinned at the utterly stunned and more than slightly bewildered look on the silver mech's faceplates. "And apparently an insult with extreme violent connotations, which is why everyone is making a fuss."

"Enough of a fuss that Ironhide backhanded me when I tried to ask," Sideswipe shifted, sparing a glance towards the door in preparation to bolt if the Prime had heard and decided to come in. "But why?"

"Why did someone choose that insult for _me?_ " Jazz clarified. 

Sideswipe nodded. 

Jazz cocked his head and leaned forward on the counter, resting on his elbows. "Probably because my interfacing systems could be seen as an organic mimic, and there are those who think that it somehow makes me less of a mechanoid. As though I can _help_ being built this way." He shrugged. "It's bigotry."

Sideswipe just stared at him. "There's someone more anti-organic than Prowl?"

"Prowl isn't anti-organic," Jazz said, not hiding his confusion at that. "I mean, yes, he dislikes dealing with them and being near organic substances, Primus knows he hates any fluid that isn't energon or cleanser, but he isn't _anti_ -organic. He thinks they should have the same right to live and be as anyone else. Whoever did this," he gestured to the damage, "Is anti-organic in a way that they believe they're a lesser species, and that to be similar to one is betrayal of Cybertronian kind."

"Are you sure it's not you they're targeting and that's just an excuse?" Sideswipe asked as he worked to process Jazz's statement with limited success.

"No," Jazz said with another shrug. "But I think they found something out about me that enabled them to give a name and an outlet to their hatred. And that always makes it more dangerous. Or it could just be an excuse by mecha mad that I got a friend locked up and their whores regulated. You'd have to ask them."

"You have something that points to Riptide's friends?" Sideswipe focused sharply. "Anything?"

"No, that's just personal suspicion," Jazz said. "Them being the only mecha I've had a chance to frag off. So either it's that or someone who _really_ hates organics."

Sideswipe mulled that over for a while. "How would they even have found out about your equipment though? It's not like Prowl talks, even to me."

Jazz grinned and ducked his head a little. "Convinced him to jack me off in the park," he said, completely unashamed of the fact.

It took Sideswipe the better part of a klik to trace down and then translate, as best he could, the human term and put it into a context he could at least somewhat understand. It showed in his frame and field how hard a trip it was for him, but eventually his native curiosity and helm-first nature got the better of him. "How does that actually work?"

Jazz raised an optic ridge at him, then demonstrated the basic motion in the air with a loose fist, ending by quickly moving his hand up as his fingers all splayed out.

The big silver warrior twitched, disturbed as his processors put the images together, but he really couldn't help being curious. "So you have the ... male ... part?"

Jazz's grin got huge. "I have both 'parts,'" he said. "But they don't indicate sex the way they do on an organic."

"Everyone had both, where you came from," Sideswipe made the connection. "How did you ever convince Prowl to do that with you? Mech _hates_ being messy."

Jazz's shoulders shook in a silent laugh. "I didn't warn him. He didn't realize what was gonna happen and I had no idea how much he was going to hate it, and after that we figured out how to make it work for him. It's unorthodox, but..." He shrugged. "It's Prowl. I can do unorthodox if it means I get Prowl."

"Better to ask forgiveness than permission sometimes," Sideswipe snickered. "Especially with him."

"Definitely," Jazz chuckled, regarding Sideswipe in a different light and for the first time seeing him as something other than an obnoxious annoyance, or an outright threat. "Can I ask ... what do you see in him?"

"You never saw him in his full glory, but I was there. Praxian tactician on the front line, yelling orders when comms were blocked, taking out as many Cons as any frontliner and doing it with _style_. He's fast, deadly, smart and a good-looking frame. Most Praxians are useless on the battlefield. Way too many sensors. One grazing hit and they go down screaming in pain. Tacticians are just as bad, clueless about how to survive when there's shrapnel and weapons fire. Prowl survived. He didn't _need_ my protection that battle, hardly ever did, but he was glad for it and used my blades well. He's just amazing in every way," Sideswipe rambled shamelessly about his attraction and devotion to the charge that had become the center of his universe for so long. "I've spent my entire existence making sure he saw the end of the war and could be the one who rebuilt Cybertron. Even if it's going to be New Cybertron and what we have is all there will ever be."

Jazz nodded slowly. He could imagine it. Oh, he could _so_ easily imagine it. 

It also made his spark sink, just a little. Sideswipe was still completely and utterly infatuated with the mech that Jazz was more and more realizing he wanted to claim as a mate. "He is amazing," he murmured. "I wouldn't have lasted very long here without him."

"The Autobots wouldn't have lasted a decavorn without him," Sideswipe huffed. "He's a good mech." He paused. "Does he talk about me much?"

Jazz hesitated as he tried to figure out how to answer that. Yes, Prowl talked about Sideswipe, when he was giving Jazz his upcoming schedule. Or when Jazz asked about him, or if the warrior otherwise came up in conversation, but talk _about_ him? "Sometimes," Jazz offered. 

It seemed to be enough. "You have an advantage there, then," Sideswipe said quietly, and it wasn't just a tactical admission.

Jazz nodded once in acceptance and understanding. "Is there anything you'd like to know about me?"

That startled Sideswipe into a lingering silence, then a longer one as he tried to come up with an answer that didn't involve leaving the wreckage of the Nightbird. Eventually he stumbled on something he was curious about. "If Prowl didn't teek like yours, would you still want him so badly?"

"No," Jazz said calmly.

It wasn't exactly the answer Sideswipe was expecting and his armor flickered slightly in surprise. "So ... you'll probably move on?"

It was Jazz's turn to flick his armor in confusion. "Move on?"

"If it's just his teek, surely you'll find somebody you _like_ to be with," Sideswipe tried again.

"I don't _just_ like his teek," Jazz said. "I like _him_. You asked if he didn't teek the same as my mate if I would still want him as much. If he didn't teek the same as Prowl, he wouldn't _be_ Prowl. But he does, and he is. If he didn't teek like my mate, the _exact same_ as my mate, I wouldn't have ever been drawn to him, so no, I wouldn't want him."

Sideswipe shifted uneasily, his anger and desire to protect Prowl rising sharply even as he was very aware that he couldn't act. Not with the Prime right outside. Not with the aerial symbiot watching and recording everything in here. Not without angering Prowl.

He wasn't quite ready to anger Prowl that much, not even to protect him.

"Hope this place is fixed in a hurry," Sideswipe said instead as he skated backwards towards the doorway. "The officers were a lot nicer when they had it."

"I'll do what I can," Jazz said with a roll of his optics behind his visor.

* * *

"You have appropriate timing," Mirage commented as Jazz came to sit down with him and Blaster at one of the back tables in the newly rebuilt club. 

"What, reopening on the trial date?" Jazz asked with a grin. "That was just coincidence." 

"It is appropriate regardless," Mirage said. "And a professional relief. I would not have felt comfortable allowing you to reopen without them being imprisoned." 

"Think they woulda tried again?" Blaster asked. 

"I have no doubt," Mirage said, inclining his helm. "Especially if Prime had not successfully discouraged Jazz's rather asinine idea for a rechristening." 

Blaster looked at Jazz, and then his optics spiraled wider and he shook his head. "Oh, nah, mech, don't even tell me you were thinkin' what I _think_ you were thinkin'."

"Mighta been," Jazz said with a grin. "Mentioned it half jokingly to Prime and I thought he would blow a fuse. So that idea got scrapped. Nightbird she stays," he patted the black tabletop fondly. 

"On the house?" a quiet voice asked, and they turned to see Spoiler holding a tray with three glowing cubes on it. Nimbus had quit after the vandalism and hadn't responded to Jazz's inquest about if he'd be coming back, which left him with only one employee again. Traffic looked as though it would be way down, though, so even one extra might be unnecessary. Jazz still wasn't about to cut the mech loose, though. Not if he had any ability to pay the wage. Jazz had a lot of cushion and fallback with Prowl's income being more than enough for them both. Spoiler had no such safety net.

"Spoiler!" Blaster said, grinning. "Good t' see you, and yes, I will absolutely take one on the house." 

"I coulda gotten that," Jazz said, smiling warmly at his shy employee. 

"Wanted t' bring it," Spoiler said with a small smile in return for his boss, and then turned a stern frown on Blaster. "Your drinks 're always on th' house. I was talkin' t' Lord Mirage." 

Blaster peered at him and the strangely proper voice that the waiter was trying to mimic, with little success. "Why d'you sound so--hey!" 

Jazz glared at him, having kicked him under the table, then cleared his vocalizer out. "Thank you, Spoiler."

"Yes, thank you," Mirage accepted the cube of effervescent high grade, flavored to his tastes. "You have a good memory," he added after taking a sip.

Spoiler glowed at the compliment and started to leave when Jazz stopped him with a touch to his arm. "Stop working and sit down." He handed over the cube Spoiler had brought for him. "I think he's logged more hours than me at this point." 

Spoiler's field blushed a little but he sat, looking at the other three. "How'd th' trial go?" he asked, knowing they'd been watching closely.

"Brutal," Blaster shuddered a bit. "I never want to go into processors that messed up again. They had no idea just how big a mess they were setting off, and they didn't care. They genuinely didn't care that if this had gotten out to our allies we wouldn't have most of them anymore. That kind of hate and indifference to social consequences can't be repaired. They're going to be a menace to society when they're cut loose again."

Spoiler's field flinched and all three were reminded that the waiter had once seen a lot of the mecha put on trial, and not always willingly. "When ... when will that happen?"

"Not for a long time," Mirage said firmly. "Not until they have proven they can be reintegrated without creating that kind of disturbance again. I will go helm to helm with Prime over that if I must. That kind of prejudiced thinking can spread and morph too easily. First it's biomechanoids or someone like you," he nodded to Jazz, "And then it's organics themselves. We _can't_ have that." 

Jazz noted Spoiler's glance. His employee had been skittish around him when he'd first returned to the club during the last of the reconstruction, giving him strange looks, acting like Jazz might infect him if he got too close. Jazz had been forced to bite his glossa more than once to keep from asking out of frustration if Spoiler was afraid he'd spontaneously grow his own robot cock. But over time the former buymech was settling back down, having apparently realized that Jazz was the same mech he'd always been, "organic" parts or not. Some of the population was responding like Spoiler, but those who hadn't interacted with him often weren't coming around quite as quickly. Even some of his former regulars hadn't stopped back by to see how things were going, and he was worried about business. The very dedicated customers--Mirage, Prime, Ratchet, Wheeljack and a few others--weren't going to be enough to keep him open. 

"A society and government that tolerates hate crimes won't be able to make or keep allies," Mirage was saying when Jazz refocused. 

Spoiler nodded, visibly latching onto Mirage's words and the noble's matter-of-fact manner about the entire issue of what Jazz had beneath the hood. Jazz relaxed as the last concerns about asking him to come back to work vanished. 

* * *

Nearly a vorn after the destruction of the Nightbird, Mirage was becoming curious as to why Jazz had not approached him for a job once more. He knew the club wasn't turning a profit yet, and while what passed for creditors weren't bothering Jazz about his loans, the minimum payments were not yet being made. As one of the three primary leaders on the first loan and one of four on the second, Mirage knew more than he normally would about the state of the club and Jazz's legal life. He knew that Prime and Prowl would never actually demand their credits back, and Blaster, who'd come in for the rebuilding loan, knew that it would not be a quick return. For himself, he wanted the investment to pay off, but he wanted the club he enjoyed far more. He also knew that Jazz had no clue that his loan was mostly credits put in by his supporters and not a government-backed sum collected from taxes.

Even with the mech on his processors, Mirage nearly jumped and did turn invisible as he skitted back into his quarters after nearly bumping into a frame on his way out.

"Metroplex," he snapped, expecting an explanation as he stared at the inside of the closed door. He _did not_ like being startled. 

"It is a public hallway," the metrotitan reminded him.

"You _always_ warn me if someone is out there," Mirage hissed, his armor fluffed and only gradually settling down. "Who is it?"

"I warn you of the presence of those you have specifically requested to be alerted of and inform you of mecha wishing to visit," Metroplex said patiently, not adding that Mirage had previously asked to be notified of 99% of the population. "And if you request the information. To my memory there has never been a neutral presence outside your door. It is Jazz."

Mirage twitched, drew in a deep vent of air and let it go. "In the future, please inform me if there is any sentient being that can witness me leave."

A second vent of air and he opened the door again. "Jazz, what do you need?"

"A job," Jazz said, looking up at the mech that was only a helm taller than he was, but significantly lighter. "Want my credentials?"

"I am well aware of your credentials," Mirage said as he stepped back and motioned the alien he had begun to genuinely like inside the entry room of his quarters. "Have there been any changes to your capabilities since we last discussed this?"

"I followed you from the time you left Prime's office until you got back to your quarters last night," Jazz said, walking in and looking around at what little he could see from where Mirage stopped. Neat, orderly, and he could see part of a painting that looked just like something his former SIC would have loved.

"You...." Mirage's voice trailed off slightly before he glanced towards a spot near the ceiling on the wall facing the door. "Metroplex, is that true?"

"Affirmative," the giant responded.

Mirage gave Jazz a measured look. "What about hardline compatibility and comms?"

"Okay, here's the thing with that, the internal structures are all updated, but you _can't_ tell Prowl," Jazz said. "But comms and hardline compatibility are done. I'm just missing the external structures."

"What is the delay?" Mirage asked.

"I'm..." Jazz paused, rocking on his pedes as he thought for a moment, trying to decide if he thought of Mirage as enough of a friend to answer the question. He and his Mirage could spend joors giggling like schoolgirls together. He wasn't sure about the giggling part, but yes, he finally decided, this Mirage could be a friend. "I'm waiting until Prowl and I are exclusive," he admitted with a grin. "I'm getting more than just the necessary external structures."

The answer was rewarded with a small but definitely there smile. "Would I be correct to believe that Ironhide's rather sudden interest in Sideswipe is part of the plan to achieve that?"

"You're good," Jazz said, inclining his helm in confirmation.

"You have a good read on Prowl," Mirage admitted. "He is very unlikely to exclude Sideswipe, but I believe he would find an exclusive relationship easier for his meta to manage. How long are you expecting this to take?"

Jazz huffed. "Vorns," he admitted. "Don't want to risk a bad fallout with Sideswipe. So we're moving slowly."

"If you are going to work for me, especially now that you are not so easily social across all strata of the city, you _must_ be able to hardline," Mirage said firmly. "However, I do not care if it is hidden, so long as you can plug into the systems and do analysis. I can forgive the comms, however it does mean your use, and thus your pay, is that much more limited."

"Understood," Jazz said. "I can send and receive sub-range comms, I got the internal receiver installed already. I just can't send or receive non-negotiated short range comms or databursts. The hardline equipment is hidden. I can sync up with Metroplex."

Mirage nodded his acceptance as Metroplex confirmed that fact. "What duties are you volunteering for?"

"Whatever you can use me for," Jazz said, then grinned. "I used to be good at taking orders, I might be able to remember how to do that again."

An amused huff escaped the former noble. "What do you know of moltenium?"

"A critical supplement you need," Jazz said, cocking his head. "Something that doesn't occur naturally outside of Cybertron, so it's synthesized. If it's incorrectly processed it can be fatal, though if it's properly handled it's completely harmless and impossible to overdose on."

"Fortunately the elements required to cheaply synthesize it are not uncommon in this universe. _Un_ fortunately it seems that somewhere in the chain of supply material is being mishandled. So far there have not been any fatalities, but it is only a matter of time," Mirage explained his latest processor ache. "Find the issue, deal with it and report back to me with the information."

"Okay..." Jazz said slowly, carefully. "I know what it would mean if I told Mirage to 'deal with it' but I need to double check because mech I need this job like you wouldn't believe and I'd rather not screw it up over translation error."

Mirage considered his words carefully before answering. "Do not get caught doing anything illegal. I cannot protect you from Prime or Prowl if you are."

"Read'ya loud and clear," Jazz said, touching his fingers to his helm in a mock salute. "What resources are at my disposal and how do I access them?" 

"Why don't we finish this conversation while I get you as officiated as possible and can show you," Mirage suggested. "You have some spare time?" 

"Free until opening," Jazz said. 

"Good, we'll need most of it," Mirage said, leading him back into the hall and down to the lower level that served as his center of operations.


	13. Acquiring a New Frame

Jazz looked up with a pleased, surprise flick of his armor when he heard Prowl come through the door and was grinning by the time he got into the berthroom. "Thought you were out tonight," he said, "out" being their keyword for "with Sideswipe."

"My plans changed," Prowl said smoothly, something that he said more and more often as the century had progressed. "It seems I am not much competition when it comes to Ironhide."

"Ironhide?" Jazz asked innocently, stretched out on the berth and doing some initial reports for Mirage.

"Sideswipe's new lover," Prowl sat down next to him before lounging back. "Though new is a relative term. Seems the idea of taking him from me occurred to the old guardian about the same time that you admitted you wanted me all to yourself. It's been quite masterfully orchestrated, I might add. Far beyond Ironhide's capabilities to plan, but well within his ability to enact if given such a plan."

" _Masterfully_ orchestrated," Jazz repeated with a grin. "You sure they don't just really like each other?"

"Oh, they get along quite well," Prowl gave Jazz a bit of a look. "But no, someone pointed Ironhide at Sideswipe and convinced him that stealing my lover and protector wouldn't be taken badly, despite my very long history of taking losses _very_ badly."

Jazz's field cringed. "You gonna be okay if Sideswipe leaves you?"

"Given how poorly the two of you get along, yes," Prowl let out a sigh and stared at the ceiling without seeing it. "I'll miss how good the physical was, and I won't lie that the hero worship was rather nice. It was becoming ... repetitive, however, no matter how good it felt."

Jazz sat up more to look more directly at his lover. "If it weren't for the interfacing, would you want him?"

"No," Prowl murmured. "Not as a lover. Physical is all there really is, by his choice."

"...Would you choose otherwise?" Jazz asked quietly.

"After a century? Yes," Prowl's engine grumbled. "He's good in the berth, but ... no, you wouldn't know. My desire has always been low. I run cool by nature. Cool enough that I genuinely believed I required the emotional connection to even activate my interface protocols. That a quirk of spark or programming restricted them to a single mecha, a single resonating spark. Sideswipe taught me that I can turn them on as any mecha. It is just not worth the energy without the emotional connection. Interfacing for the overload was old within a vorn."

Jazz nodded, wrapped his arms around his knees, and stayed quiet.

"Does that bother you?" Prowl asked, a bit bewildered at the reaction.

"No," Jazz murmured, trying to pinpoint his unease. "Not what he taught you. It's good that you know that about yourself. I'm..." He huffed. "I'm bothered that you would want more than just interfacing with him if it was being offered." And wasn't _that_ embarrassing to admit.

"But it is not being offered," Prowl said quietly. "He is rarely even offering to interface anymore. It will soon be over with Sideswipe. Then ... then it will just be us again."

Jazz looked at him. "I hope that isn't the dour option it sounds like right now," he said with a wry grin.

"No," Prowl reached out to caress his lover's arm. "It is not all I had once hoped for, but it is not a dour option. You told me you wished I would not see Sideswipe. Though I have taken my time, I have been helping Ironhide to court him. I was given a choice, and I chose you."

Jazz leaned into the caress, tension melting away from his frame. He'd never been good at this part. Interfacing, yes, he was good at that. Pit, he was fragging _easy_. But _caring_ , that had always been hard. "You've been helping," he repeated with a bit of a laugh. 

"It is best for all if Sideswipe leaves of his own accord," Prowl said simply. "If he believes it is his idea, he will not be angry about it."

Jazz nodded in agreement, feeling much better. "If he doesn't go on his own ... will you ask him to?"

"Very carefully," Prowl nodded. "It must be phrased and timed in a way that he chooses Ironhide."

"Yeah," Jazz agreed, then quirked a smile at him. "You do realize I'm trying to ask you to be exclusive here." 

"I thought I had already said yes," Prowl quirked an optic ridge back. "Once Sideswipe has moved on."

"You did," Jazz said. "I'm having trouble with the part where it sounded like a choice you were forced into instead of something you want." He sighed. "And I guess ... I'm forgetting that you aren't _Prowl_ , so even though sometimes you do everything exactly like he would, you're still not him. So I'm expecting a reaction like his would be, which is different from what you're doing right now. Which is okay," he added quickly. "Just forgetting where I am."

"Forced choices are not always a bad thing, so long as it is a choice," Prowl said gently as he tugged Jazz to lie against him. "I do understand the sensation, however. You have caught me off guard a few times by acting like yourself and not Jazz."

Jazz hummed with a smile, happily resting against his lover. "Just, tell me you're the slightest bit excited that I want to do this. No--not excited. I don't need excited. Anticipatory?"

"Oh Jazz," he shifted to claim a light kiss and pressed his field deep into the smaller mech. "Thrilled. Hopeful this means we will share sparks. Glad that all the new experiences available haven't drawn you away."

Jazz relaxed completely at that and his field danced back against Prowl's. "You drew me through universes, it'll take more than that to take me away again."

"Good," Prowl's engine began to purr as he stroked down Jazz's back. "Can those reports wait?"

"Lover, reports can _always_ wait," Jazz said as he arched into the touch with a delighted thrill through his field. 

Prowl wanted him. Physical limitations and all, Prowl _wanted_ him. 

* * *

"...Wow," Jazz said, looking at himself through the circular arrangement of cameras that Ratchet used for large operations. His face was unchanged, and his hands, but the rest of his external armor had been stripped down and replaced with a cosmetic exterior that matched the local style. He'd kept his colors, black and white with red and blue trim, and the basic form of his alt mode, but he was barely recognizable. "I'm weird and _spiky_." 

"You're _gorgeous_ ," Ratchet muttered with an optic roll. "You just can't tell." 

"You say gorgeous, I say spiky," Jazz said. 

Ratchet gave him a few more moments, as long as his patience would hold out. "If you've finished admiring my amazing work, care to test the comms out?" 

"Sure, yeah," Jazz said, and then frowned when a strange fuzzy transmission came in. It read as a short-range comm burst, and once he filtered it through the translation code, it come out as a clear, terse, ::Well?:: 

::I believe it's working,:: Jazz responded. 

::Good,:: Ratchet replied, then pinged Jazz a file. ::See what you can make of that.::

Jazz accepted and opened the file, watching as the lines of code ran through the translation and gradually turned into something he could read. "My--" He stopped, switched. ::My appointment schedule.::

::Good. Now send something similar back to me. It doesn't need to be real.:: Ratchet instructed. ::Also, try to send a vid capture. A real one.::

Jazz sent back the latest inventory report from the Nightbird, and then chose a memory of watching his Ratchet operating on Prime in the middle of a battlefield. 

::Inventory for your club, and ... a medic working on a relatively large red mech in battle,:: Ratchet replied, sending the image back. ::Any degradation of the image?::

Jazz checked it over. ::None. And that's Ratchet and Prime,:: he said, using the English designations. 

Ratchet paused as he absorbed that information. ::How large are they relative to you?::

Jazz thought for a moment, then pulled an old Earth news video that showed him, Prowl, Prime, Ratchet, Wheeljack, and Bumblebee. ::Normal sized,:: he teased. 

::The others are Prowl, Wheeljack and Bumblebee?:: Ratchet asked, sending image-files of the local version equating to the new version attached to the designation glyphs as per custom.

::Yes,:: Jazz nodded. ::And that human hanging around Bumblebee is Spike Witwicky.::

Ratchet gave a huff. ::What are the chances. We had a Witwicky, too. Ours was a complete glitch, even if he did make the right choice in the end.::

::Humans are like that,:: Jazz said with a grin. ::So am I done with my checkup?::

"Yes," Ratchet rolled his optics. "You may now go terrorize your lover with your new abilities and appearance. Try not to crash him, will you?"

"I'll try," Jazz grinned hugely and practically skipped his way out of medbay. He'd gotten the updates earlier than he'd intended--Sideswipe and Prowl were still active lovers--but he hadn't wanted to wait any longer, not with Prowl having promised what he had. He didn't need Prowl to be exclusive to make the investment worthwhile. The promise of it was quite enough, and might just help the process of getting rid of Sideswipe happen a bit faster. No matter what Prowl said, a good overload from a skilled lover was attractive and Jazz had little doubt that Prowl had been with Sideswipe this long because Prowl wasn't looking forward to not getting properly laid again.

For a moment, Jazz idly considered trying to break the speed limit to catch his lover's attention, wondering what Prowl would do about it if he did, before quickly deciding against it. Instead, he went to wait near the single precinct building--small, it only needed enough space for three regular Enforcers--and lingered until Prowl got back from patrol, leaning casually against the outside. "Hey officer baby," he cat-called.

Predictably, Prowl ignored the statement as his full attention fixated on identifying the unknown mecha. Several pings were exchanged by automated systems and Jazz took great delight in getting to listen in on the short and predictably blunt exchange between Prowl and Ratchet. When the comm closed, Prowl was close enough to casually teek. "You look amazing," the Praxian did his best to keep his voice steady. "Why such a dramatic redesign?"

"Seemed fitting to match with the other upgrades," Jazz said with a grin, hooking his thumbs in his hips and pushing off from the wall, standing up straight with his head tilted back to meet Prowl's roaming optics. Even without teeking, which was too easy, he could read the desire in Prowl's frame and the way his optics moved. The desire had always been between their sparks, they'd both gotten the hand of the physical pleasure, but this was the first time where he was sure that Prowl felt _lust_ for him.

"Other upgrades?" Prowl asked, his voice calm despite the low revving of his engine.

"Yeah," Jazz said, and reached up to his chest to slide a panel back and tease a cable just barely into view. "Got all these crazy cables that I just don't seem to know what to do with..." He trailed off for effect as he pulled the tip fully out, rolling it in his fingers, coy and teasing while the interfacing port spiraled over. "And other ... hookups ... that I can't quite figure out..."

It took some effort not to react to the way Prowl's optics dilated, brightening considerably along with the hitch of his vents and _roar_ of that field.

"I'm still on duty," Prowl managed weakly against the _want_ trying to scramble his priority trees.

"Right, of course," Jazz said, nodding understandably as everything was tucked back away again with just a flick of his fingers. "The safety of the planet is, after all, of utmost importance." He leaned in conspiratorially and dropped his voice to an exaggerated whisper. "Want me to do something illegal so you have to arrest me and take me to a private cell for an extended interrogation?"

The low whine of Prowl's engine screamed _yes_ even as his higher processors gave all the reasons not to. Prowl didn't even realize that he'd stepped so close to Jazz that the smaller mech was pinned between him and the wall until he lifted a hand and found it brushing Metroplex's metal.

"Why don't you hang out in my office while I finish a few reports," Prowl's voice had dropped, promising that reports were not the only thing on his agenda. "I'm sure I can help explain your new components while I work."

"Don't I need to make an appointment for that?" Jazz asked innocently as he enjoyed the heat and energy moving between their frames, while he kept every one of his native interfacing protocols shut down, relying entirely on the new systems that were engaging. It was an intense rush, and for a moment Jazz was sure he felt just how intense it had been for Prowl to have Sideswipe looming over him that first night, their fields lapping at each other. The new systems were far more sensitive to the push and draw of another's field than he'd ever imagined.

"No," Prowl rumbled, his armor already loosening as he forcefully pulled away to motion Jazz into his office.

As he was guided--pushed, pulled, almost lifted--Jazz found that he could barely think beyond the way _every_ touch on his frame set his entire sensor net alight. A graze of claws on his arm, the brush of a knee against his back, every single one was making him shudder until he physically couldn't focus past it enough to walk, too overwhelmed with the surging data. He couldn't _believe_ how intense it felt. "I-is it--always--" he gasped out, grabbing at the wall for support.

"Yes," Prowl actually growled as he swept Jazz into his arms and walked as swiftly as he dared to get to the relative safety of his office. The moment the door was closed it locked and Jazz found himself sprawled on the floor with long, sharp claws sliding along intricate armor edges to brush the cables and wiring beneath. Prowl was kneeling over him, completely focused on his task.

Jazz moaned and begged, pleas in a dozen different languages, maybe more, and it was all dry, static charge making him arch and trill like he was. Unheard of, for frame touches to be anything more than gentle foreplay. Yes, he'd seen in Prowl and others here how much it was part of their interfacing, but he'd never been able to understand what it would feel like. Hot and full-framed, and those claws-- _those claws!_ \--teasing and stroking along a wire cluster felt like pure ecstasy going unfiltered to his processors. " _Prowl!_ " he cried, as his back strut bowed upwards, and his optics whited out with the force of the charge that cracked through him, releasing out into the air.

Prowl's frame took the bulk of it, Metroplex absorbed the rest, and when Jazz managed to focus once more, his lover was still straddling him, black and white armor fluffed out and red chest vents pouring out burning hot air. Without a word Prowl began to stroke down Jazz's chest, caressing and exploring every tiny plate of armor, every new seam until the smaller mech was trembling again.

Jazz returned it where he could, fingers in Prowl's hips, up and down along his thighs as his chest pressed up, the new port and cable exposed upwards with a whine from his engine that was meant to be inviting, and turned into pleading. He wanted to _feel_ his lover the way he'd been intended to feel.

He'd barely processed the desire when he felt the surge of pleasure that was Prowl plugging in, and nearly screamed with the first pulse from those powerful systems as their protocols exchanged the IDs and permissions. Even as Jazz became aware that he could sense Prowl's awareness, another blast of bliss hit him and the connection doubled in strength.

~Hardline,~ Prowl's single glyph was entwined with intimacy and pleasure that Jazz normally associated with stories of bonded couples.

~Feels so good,~ Jazz moaned with a bright _thrill_ through his field to be able to communicate with Prowl so clearly and easily. He could see new protocols queuing up in his HUD, instructions and options on how to use the connection set-up, and he guessed on how to push back a current like the one that Prowl was sending to him. It got stopped halfway through and fizzled out, to his frustration.

~Cables are one-way at a time,~ Prowl explained patiently. ~You send over this one,~ he nudged the line that originated in Jazz's frame. ~I use this one,~ Prowl pulsed a current over the one that came from himself.

Jazz's entire frame jerked from it as he grabbed onto Prowl's arms, switching the commands to the other origin point. ~You were sending over both,~ he said, with a deep moan of bliss. 

~Yes,~ Prowl shifted to the one he'd chosen for himself. ~It ensured the highest odds of reaching you. You are _gorgeous_.~

Pleasure that had nothing to do with the currents being passed between them flared through Jazz and he settled into the heated back-and-forth of energy pulses, each one chipping that bit more away of their self-awareness. ~Glad you like it.~

~Do.~ Prowl moaned, shivering as the charge rose hot and fast. Zaps of blue lightning danced under their armor and crackled between them where they touched, thick on both frames, but it was Prowl who lost himself first. With a huge surge across his line into Jazz, he leaned forward to press their forehelms together and pressed how intensely erotic this was to him over with the bliss of his overload.

It was too much for Jazz to handle as the spiking rush of energy flooded and consumed him just moments after Prowl, writhing and thrashing from it as his engine alternatively revved and stuttered until it was over and he was himself again. ~Wow...~ he said, to Prowl's answering murmur, and then jumped and squirmed when even the act of _speaking_ over the hardline brought another small jolt with it. ~Any data?~ he asked wonderingly. 

~Any charge sent through the line creates pleasure, just as any touch does,~ Prowl purred, relaxed and clearly not feeling the same effects that Jazz was. ~You might want to turn the protocols off.~

Another twitch and Jazz finally found the correct action command path and initiated it, and then sank into a hazy, blissful relaxation. ~You didn't get any reports done, I notice,~ he said. ~But I'll give you an A for effort.~

~My shift is not yet over,~ Prowl chuckled as he relaxed and shifted to kiss his lover. ~It seemed prudent to deal with our charge first. We will need to work on your skills at this, though I think it will be simple to arrange the time for it.~

~And you will probably bring a color-coded checklist of things to cover with accompanying instructional guides,~ Jazz teased, not at all bothered to not have been perfect. Primus knew he hadn't been perfect the first time he'd interfaced with his native systems, either, and that had been much more traumatic for all involved. ~Or maybe you're more hands on?~

"With you, I intend to be _very_ hands on," Prowl purred as he unplugged their frames and gently coiled the cables away. "Your most difficult lesson will likely be in controlling when the protocols auto-activate. It was for me."

Jazz nodded as he watched expert hands tucking everything away, recording the technique for later use. "What else?" he asked curiously, quite content to lay on his back with Prowl kneeling over his hips -- and wasn't _that_ an erotic vision -- while the larger mech cared for the post-interface cleanup.

"I expect that all the issues you had when your native protocols were first being explored will happen again," Prowl tried to be helpful as he shifted to offer a hand to Jazz before standing. "Overloading quickly, awkward moments of not knowing what to do, arousal when it is undesirable, being easily distracted by the protocol requests."

Jazz snickered at the memories. "Yeah, that about sums it up." He followed Prowl over to his desk and jumped up to perch on it as his lover sat in the chair. "Please tell me those won't last long."

"I was unacceptably distractible for five and a half decaorns," Prowl tried not to mutter at the mixture of pleasurable, humiliating and annoying memories of the time. "It felt like it was much longer. I would expect between your prior experience and the greater ease at adapting that you will be under control significantly sooner. My original research indicated there was significant individual variance. From those who were in control within two orns to those who still had occasional issues after many vorns. The medical norm is considered four decaorns to three metacycles, so long as the mecha can use the time to focus on exploring and understanding the new protocols."

"Got it," Jazz said, lounging with purring engines. He allowed Prowl to work in peace for a few kliks, then, with a quirked grin and raised optic ridge, "You _really_ think I look good like this?"

Prowl's optics glanced up, and Jazz could see the _lust_ there, undisguised and unchallenged. "Very much so. It is no longer just your spark that I find myself desiring now."

Jazz's engines revved in response to that look, processors still giddily high on the new kind of pleasure and overload that was so different from what he'd always known, and still so good. His optics wandered to Prowl's chest and he found himself reaching for it, suddenly attracted there like he hadn't ever really been before. "You don't really _have_ to finish your reports right now, do you...?"

"If you'd given me warning, I could have cleared this decaorn and been ready to indulge you completely," Prowl chided him lightly, but there was no mistaking how much he wished to indulge. "As things stand, I do need to finish these reports, and a few for tomorrow, before I put in for leave."

Jazz groaned, flopping backwards onto the desk, arms outstretched and legs dangling over the edge. "I didn't think it would be that _good_ ," he complained.

That was enough to pause Prowl's work, if only briefly. "You have witnessed what it can do for me, and others. Did you doubt the quality of Ratchet's work?"

"No," Jazz said quickly, lifting his head. "No absolutely not and don't you ever suggest to him that I might have. I _like_ being in one piece. No. I just..." He waved a hand airily. "Figured I knew what an overload felt like and your way of interfacing just always looked so _strange_ I didn't think it would get to me much. Yeah it would feel good but..." He trailed off with a deep hum. "Can't describe it. Like it's in my wiring. Not _better_ , but _good_. New-good."

Prowl smiled faintly. "Rather like that first spike overload you gave me, I expect. It felt amazing. Strange, unsettling in being so new, but amazing. I look forward to finishing enough work to find out just how good your style will be when included in a feedback loop of a dual hardline."

Jazz groaned again, hands wandering up to his own chest so his fingers could circle the new panels, not entirely aware of the effect that motion had on Prowl. "Hurry _up_."

Prowl's armor shivered in his building need and the effort it took to force it down and concentrate on his work. Work came first. He was still on shift for Primus's sake, not even working late as he once would have every night.

"Jazz...." Prowl's voice hitched in the effort to warn his lover. He couldn't finish articulating the statement when there was a ping for admittance, one that Prowl could not ignore. He tried to put himself to rights as the door opened. "Prime, how may I help you?"

The red and blue giant's knowing optics swept through the room, taking in the two mecha. "You can overload your mate hard enough to take him to your quarters without public incident, and then remain there until he is presentable in public again. It is quite distracting to have here."

"My apologies Prime," Prowl dipped his helm in submission. "My work...."

"Will be dealt with or waiting for you in your home office," Prime said firmly. "Do please wear him out and show him how to be a functional adult in society before he's turned loose again."

Jazz grinned up at the massive mech. "You really mean it?" 

"I do indeed," Prime said, gazing sternly down at him. "I am surprised that Ratchet permitted the secrecy in the first place, he is aware of what newly activated protocols can do to the inexperienced." 

"Make them feel really, really, _really_ good," Jazz purred, turning to look at Prowl again.

Prowl chuckled as he stood. "I am sure that Jazz made a case that he already has three sets of interface protocols active and that two more shouldn't affect him so much. He can be _quite_ convincing when he wishes to be." Without warning he simply scooped Jazz up from his desk and walked out. "Thank you, Prime."

"You are welcome," Prime said with as much patience as he could muster, shook his head, and carefully knelt down to begin looking over the unfinished work. 

Once they were in the hallway, Jazz's hands went up to Prowl's neck and he nuzzled and licked at his armor, shivering from every point of friction created between their frames as Prowl walked. "Okay ... yeah they initiated again," he moaned, trying to keep somewhat quiet.

"Find them and shut them down," Prowl said firmly. "It may only work for a klik or two at a time, but it will work."

Jazz whined at him but obeyed, dutifully following the order the entire walk back to Prowl's quarters as he clung to the larger mech, alternatively shivering and slumping as he wrestled with coding that _did not_ want to stay shut down. 

Finally, when they were almost there, he moaned again as the shutdown command just stuck in a repeating loop to avoid being processed. "Won't go," he managed.

"You will have better control soon," Prowl promised gently. "Do what you must. Our quarters are only a few more paces."

Jazz's groaning shudder of relief was immediate and intense as he finally gave into the new coding that was attempting to hijack his entire frame. He rubbed up against Prowl, igniting friction points and sparks between them as his lover carried him to their berth, more than happy to help him.

"Here you may scream and plead all you wish," Prowl rumbled as he finally allowed his own interface protocols to unfurl through his frame. "I will indulge you, teach you all I know."

His answer was a squirm and a delighted cry that went straight to his spark.

* * *

"Y' shoulda gotten those updates a long time ago," Spoiler commented mildly as he watched Jazz rushing to fill the massive number of orders that were flooding in. The club was fuller than either of them had ever seen before, and Spoiler was fully enjoying getting to get to take a break after seven orns of unexpectedly having to care for the entire place by himself. 

"What?" Jazz asked, distracted, glancing up for just a split moment before looking back down. "Why?" 

"Lookit all th' business yer bringing in," Spoiler grinned. "Y' know this is all jus' mecha wantin' t' get a good look at ya t' be in on th' gossip." 

Jazz snickered. "Yeah, well, I'm told I'm hot, maybe they're all here just to gaze in awe." 

"Yer aesthetically pleasin'," Spoiler said with an optic roll. Out on the floor, he heard Blaster make another announcement that only mecha actually purchasing something were allowed to remain, which got a few of them out the door, and a few more orders in. Spoiler smiled and stepped up to the bar, taking all the new ones. "How's th' 'facin'?"

Jazz almost dropped small vial he was holding over a cube right into it. "Uh--" 

Spoiler snickered. "That good?" 

"It's--um--distracting," Jazz said, scowling at his employee. "Did you _have_ to remind me?" 

"Not quite got 't under control, huh? Takes a bit." 

"I. Am. Fine," Jazz said, as he accidentally added ten times the needed amount of silver dust into a mix.

"Sure y' are," the former buymech was enjoying teasing his boss entirely too much. "How long is Prowl goin'a stay away?"

Jazz gave a low, frustrated groan. "End of his shift."

"Pit, mech, you _are_ a looker," Sideswipe commented as he pushed his way to the front. "Glad you waited this long."

"Heh." Jazz pushed a drink down the bar that was _almost_ like what the order had been and called it a success before moving onto the next one. "Kinda wish I'd waited longer." He kept his optics fixed firmly on his hands, refusing to look up and allow the barely-held-back protocols to latch onto _any more_ chests. It was embarrassing as slag and Spoiler had already laughed himself glitchy by catching Jazz staring at his.

"You know it's easy to settle for a joor or two," the big warrior purred shamelessly as he easily read the smaller mech's tension. "Should only take a couple kliks at your stage."

Jazz knocked over the entire drink he was working on and stared at it for a moment. "Um--no. No, that's--you know, uh--"

"Want me to ask Prowl if it's okay?" Sideswipe grinned a bit more.

"I really--um--" Jazz said, as he tried to ignore Spoiler's silent hysterics next to him. "I'm not sure he--"

Sideswipe rolled his optics and opened a comm channel to ping Prowl.

::If you wish some relief, I do not object to you taking it,:: Prowl commed back to Jazz a moment later. ::I knew you would not be in control this quickly.::

::Oh thank Primus,:: Jazz said, as he looked a little pleadingly at Spoiler. 

"Yeh, I got 't," the mech chuckled quietly. "Go on." 

"You are getting a huge raise," Jazz told him, and gratefully jumped down from the counter and made a not terribly dignified escape into the back. 

Sideswipe followed much more smoothly and swept Jazz up with easy strength to sit him on a crate that brought them closer to chest-to-chest level. "Want anything special?" he purred even as he slid claws under the multitude of armor plates that Jazz now sported.

"Got any signature moves?" Jazz groaned, arching into the touch of the mech that was significantly larger than even Prowl. "You know, the twist n' shout, the shock n' drop..."

"Just relax," Sideswipe purred as his claws began to dance in long strokes along Jazz's frame, hitting every hot spot the mech had that was new before circling his primary interface port. "And open up. I'll blow your processors."

"One or both or--" Jazz started as he spiraled open and reached up to tug at his cable. "Is that impolite to ask?" he asked with a laugh that turned quickly into another moan. 

"Asking if your partner wants your cable?" Sideswipe clarified. Jazz nodded. "Nah. Strange thing to ask out loud though, usually it's just..." He demonstrated with his claw again.

Jazz nodded, and mimicked the motion on Sideswipe's chest. The port spiraled open smoothly with a flare of excitement in Sideswipe's field. That flare turned into a burst of pleasure as their cables were plugged in and the first exchanges made.

~Been ages since I wasn't the youngest around,~ Sideswipe moaned across the connection, pushing energy hard and fast into Jazz's frame. His field joined in, pulsing in pace with Jazz's spark with flawless accuracy.

Jazz's pulses were less accurate, and the energy push still couldn't settle on a size and stay there for longer than a few surges, but he was already so much better than he'd been just a few orns ago and he needed to at least try to hold his own with this mech. 

Even if hold his own just meant lasting three kliks instead of two. Jazz could still be realistic even when he was being stubborn. ~You know I'm technically older than you,~ he panted with a sharp flare of his field.

~Not in _this_ ,~ Sideswipe groaned with pleasure as he added physical touches with expert claws to the torment.

~No,~ Jazz agreed, learning with every stroke and touch, even as he started to lose coherent awareness. ~N-not, in...~ He fought to hold on against energy that coursed rapidly through his frame, still so new and incredible that it lit him up from within every time. Even Sideswipe's _field_ was managing to stroke and arouse. 

He made it another klik and a half before he shouted, muffling the sound as much as he could by biting down onto the claw that Sideswipe offered him, the overload exploding outward, sizzling through his wires.

Jazz came back to something resembling awareness slumped forward against Sideswipe's chest, both cables put away and the silver giant remarkably still and calm in frame and field.

"Ready to face the public for a while again?" Sideswipe asked politely.

"Mm, yes," Jazz hummed, _relief_ flooding through him. "You had amazing timing. Did you...?"

"Thank you," Sideswipe teeked of his pride. "Yes. It just takes more out of you right now."

"Oh good," Jazz said, still unwilling to move. "I get to keep _some_ of my pride."

"It's cute. Besides, it's fun to watch somebody go through the startup phase," Sideswipe chuckled. "I'll stick around until Prowl takes over."

"Mmkay," Jazz said, and after another few kliks of what was definitely not snuggling managed to rouse himself to get back out to the front of the club. 

Spoiler gave him an incredibly knowing look.

"Hush," Jazz said, clearing out his vocalizer. "Right, now that my neural pathways are actually _moving_ again, I think I can make some of those," he gestured for the orders. 

Spoiler handed them over, smiling at Sideswipe over Jazz's shoulder. "That was fast," he chuckled to the silver mech once Jazz was away delivering.

"He held out a lot longer than most," Sideswipe grinned back and reclaimed a spot at the bar. "Only half that time was recovering. He'll need it again in a joor or so."

"Think 'e didn' realize jus' what 'e was getting' himself inta," Spoiler said with a grin. "'e only asked me t' cover the club for two nights."

"Definitely not," Sideswipe shook his helm. "I'm surprised he managed to drag himself back after six. He's definitely not that ready for public contact. Even if everyone's grateful to have Prowl back at work," he gave a covert look at the senior officers' table currently occupied by Optimus Prime, Ultra Magnus, Mirage and Ratchet.

Spoiler followed the gaze and nodded, a small smile playing on his mouth. 

"And what are you two talking about?" Jazz grumbled as he came back up to the bar, the post-overload good mood ruined by having to walk through a crowded room and keep his vision focused forward the entire time. 

"How much y' like t' cause scandals," Spoiler said with a rare grin. 

Jazz regarded him, then laughed. "Yeah," he admitted ruefully. "Yeah, I really do."

"You know," Sideswipe lifted the cube that had appeared near his hand to his mouth for a swig. "When we aren't competing, you're kinda fun."

"Aw, I could say the same for you," Jazz chuckled, before another rush hit and work distracted him almost an entire joor before he had to pull Sideswipe into the back again. 


	14. Spark to Spark

Prowl had spent the better part of a joor staring at his leave request in between reports and signatures before he'd sent the form in. Everything was ready on his end. Optimus Prime had been warned, told of the probability that when Jazz finally agreed to a spark merge it was likely to end with them bonded. The big mech had simply smiled and wished him good luck. Ratchet had muttered something along the lines of 'about time' when Prowl had informed him. Blaster and Spoiler were prepared to take care of the Nightbird for the duration, including nights they simply shut down.

Now that the customary bonding leave was set up, Prowl dearly hoped that he was reading Jazz right and his lover, his mate, was ready to become his bonded in spark. It would be humiliating if he was wrong, but the hurt at being wrong would far outweigh any social issues. His spark ached for Jazz's.

With a deep cycle of his vents, Prowl stood and prepared to leave his office for a full decaorn. Even though not all of that would be in their berth--not even Prowl could stay locked away in a room for that long and not go a bit stir crazy--he would be spending it very close to Jazz's side. A new bond would complain aggressively if stretched too much in the first orns, and break if pushed too far. 

He got home before Jazz did and had a few joors to wait and think, but finally he heard the door open and his lover walked in, and smiled when he saw him, even though Jazz was frowning. 

"Spoiler and Blaster were acting all weird," he said. "Telling me I should go home early and have a quiet night." He rolled his optics behind his visor, the only indication being the slight shift in the focus light across the screen. "Please, like we _ever_ have a quiet night." He finally grinned at his lover.

"Some are quieter than others," Prowl smiled and opened his arms to draw Jazz against him, loving the way Jazz's engine rumbled just above his pelvic girdle and sent the most delicious sensations into his penetrative interface components. "I talked to them, asked them to be ready to take over for a while."

Despite the arousal, and joy at being close, Prowl was nervous, too, and he knew it showed.

Jazz raised an optic ridge and lifted his head. "And why would they be doing that?" he asked.

"Perhaps because Sideswipe and I officially ended our relationship. I am now yours alone, and I wished to celebrate," Prowl explained as he ran his hands along Jazz's new plating, still reveling in how attractive the mech now was.

"You _what?_ " Jazz said, visor brightening as he straightened to full attention in Prowl's lap, hands shooting up to his chest as _delight_ rushed into his field. He tugged Prowl down into a kiss, then brushed their helms together with a joyful shiver. "Say that again, the part about being just mine."

"I am yours, only yours," Prowl quivered at the reaction, thrill tumbling through his field and joy in his touch. "I never want to share you again, or have another touch me. I do not care how abnormal it is, so long as you desire me."

" _Yes,_ " Jazz groaned, exactly what he wanted, what he'd wanted for _so_ long. No matter how strange it was for him to want to go the rest of his life with just one mech, he'd been pulled through _time_ and _universes_ to be given a second chance with the spark he'd fallen in love with. To heal, to help heal one who'd been as broken as him. He could spend the rest of his life with just that spark. 

"I bought fine high grade, treats and gold paint," Prowl held Jazz tightly, relieved and overjoyed. "I hope to woo you into sharing sparks before you return to work."

Jazz's spark made a funny tumble-lunge in his chest and his hand immediately went up to press down over it, feeling suddenly like there wasn't enough air in all the world to keep his temperature down. "Paint?" he asked, to give himself time to bring his processors to thinking rights instead of the giddy nervous tangle they'd just become.

"An ancient tradition now, but one I remember Jazz speaking of. When mecha became exclusive for some reason, it was custom in some cities to paint a glyph to that effect along with the designation glyphs of those allowed to touch. It was created to give a fresh bond time to settle and strengthen without the other half always hovering, prepared to fight off a challenger, but I always found the idea romantic," Prowl couldn't help the ripple of shy embarrassment in his field. "It seemed so _civilized_ a way to handle it."

Jazz smiled warmly at him. "It is romantic," he said with a chuckle. "A bit much so, but I like it. Everyone knowing to keep their hands offa _my_ Prowler," he purred, seeking another kiss that was readily and passionately given. "You know I kind of want to 'face you senseless."

"We have many orns free," Prowl rumbled s his hands stroked and teased. "I hope to interface every way possible, many times before you escape my berth."

" _Escape,_ " Jazz said with a delighted trill. "What a wonderfully evoking choice for a verb." He pushed Prowl back, climbing over him and leaning in for a deep kiss as he circled his thumb over the chest port.

Prowl moaned and his port spiraled open quickly as he reached to caress an asking circle around Jazz's. "Please. I want you."

"You have me," Jazz shivered as he plugged in, then braced for the intense rush that was Prowl's larger, higher-energy frame plugging into him and the fall to bliss that came soon afterwards.

* * *

Jazz didn't know exactly how many orns Prowl had asked off for, but he wasn't showing any sign of needing to hurry or being impatient, so he was quite content to take his time and enjoy their berth as much as possible. The question of merging was still lingering in the back of his processor--frightening, still, the idea of opening his chest ever again, but he trusted Prowl and wanted him even more--and he was glad to be given enough time to work up to it. It helped that Prowl was so comfortable opening his chest to Jazz for tactile and spark play.

He snuggled up in Prowl's lap, resting against his open chest, their frames melding easily together as Prowl relaxed from a tactile overload to his chamber. He could feel Prowl's spark reaching out for his, and the ache of his trying to reach back, and  he suddenly didn't want to keep holding back anymore. With a shiver Jazz's chest split down the middle, folding back in a rarely used sequence, tucking away before his chamber lifted forward. "I want you."

A sweet keen of anticipated ecstasy was torn from Prowl's vocalizer as his spark pulsed back with reassurance, desire, _safe_ before Prowl got enough control of his vocalizer to respond. "Yours," he trembled with desire, offering without demand.

Jazz tried to form words but his spark was _straining_ in his crystal and he knew, somehow, that it knew what to do. He found the command for the iris to spiral open and the light _surged_ forward to meet Prowl's. "O-- _oh!_ "

Pure life energy met pure life energy, the coronas caressed, merged, _danced_ into and around each other. Jazz's spark did know what to do, which included allowing Prowl's more experienced spark to guide the intense pleasure of the merge.

~Beautiful.~ Prowl moaned directly across the building connection. ~You _are_ my Jazz,~ he murmured in awe. 

Jazz shuddered before his frame answered his spark's command to stop moving, to protect his sensitive internals from damage while he wasn't entirely aware of his surroundings. ~You feel right,~ he said, just as amazed. ~Like being _surrounded_ by Prowl. Completely. Like you're _mine_.~

~Yes,~ Prowl purred, caressing his lover's spark with all the adoration it deserved. ~Primus has granted us mercy.~

~I can only imagine,~ Jazz whispered, nuzzling back. _Love_ and devotion surged from him, a deep understanding of how Prowl worked and what he needed to thrive going across the connection. ~That or we're just the luckiest mecha in the universe. Frag me this feels good,~ he moaned.

~Yes. We are. Love you. My _Jazz_ ,~ Prowl's processors and spark manipulated his love's two designations into a single, beloved harmonic and gave it in offering to Jazz.

Jazz accepted the gift for what it was, caressed the precious spark, then cried out in shimmering pleasure as their sparks throbbed in sudden unison as the merge came to its deepest point. Their awareness came to be nothing beyond the light and bliss and their sparks swirled together, joyful to be reunited, no matter the circumstances that had brought them here.

In the midst of it all, Jazz's spark was opening, inviting, the only way it knew how to respond to a first merge. There was scarring inside, the confusion and pain of having been rejected with utter disgust the first time it had opened this way.

Prowl's spark caressed Jazz's, soothed the scarring with itself, its absolute love and devotion and acceptance. The pale, ice blue spark trilled and hummed to the darker blue one, ecstatic at the openness, the offering, and offered itself in return without hesitation.

~Bond with me?~ Prowl managed to ask despite how much he wanted it, and knew he could simply have it. Jazz didn't have the psychological protocols needed to fight back. Prowl _needed_ Jazz to understand he was not demanding this.

~If you don't I'm gonna be _pissed_ ,~ Jazz laughed with a giddy thrill. ~Yes, _yes._ ~

~Thank you,~ Prowl groaned and let go of all the desire to be _one_ that he'd been holding back. Without that will in the way, Prowl's spark shifted its consistency, gleefully guiding Jazz's in how to come a little closer to the _one_ of eternity while still in a frame. Energy flowed, danced and entwined, two shades of blue mingling until there was only one color in the single spark of life that powered two frames. When they parted, reluctant but knowing that their frames could not take any more, there was no longer a bright blue and ice blue spark, but a single brilliant blue that would never again be completely parted.

Jazz was dazed, and ecstatic, as he looked into his lover's -- his mate's, his _bonded's_ \-- optics. "You um, you said something about not being too far apart," he said, the only thing he could think of because everything else needed a few kliks to process.

"For us, bonding involves many merges of this type in the first few orns, and we cannot be far apart for a while," Prowl murmured, reciting more on reflex than any ability to think. "A decaorn is the medical minimum, but the stronger the bond the longer it takes to stretch it without pain and potential damage. I will be shadowing you when you return to the Nightbird until the bond has settled enough. Right now we should be no more than a couple paces apart. By the time you are willing to leave this room I should be able to be unobtrusive and still close enough. Within the Nightbird, but not right next to you."

"Wow," Jazz murmured. "I wonder if it would be the same for me, or..." He carefully sought out the tiny, _impossibly_ tiny, brush of new in his spark. "It doesn't feel like any of the descriptions I've read," he said, and tried to speak through it, or push over his sense of wonder.

"I can feel ... something," Prowl murmured. "I know you are there. It is good for a first bonding merge. It feels stable. What were you trying to do?"

"Say hello," Jazz said with a laugh. He nuzzled up to his mate. "So I probably shouldn't run into the next room no matter how curious I am." 

"Not unless your intent is to be chased, pinned and merge again," Prowl rumbled deeply in the mixture of core-level disapproval of his new bonded moving and arousal at the chase. "The bond will strengthen, but right now, any more than a couple paces will strain it. It is possible to break a new bond that way."

"Didn't feel like moving anyway," Jazz said with a contented sigh, felt his bonded relax, and cocked his head in contemplation. "No wonder you never bonded," he murmured, reaching up to stroke along Prowl's face. "Dangerous."

"Dangerous?" Prowl repeated, curious. "We could not afford the time to stabilize it, or the decreased functionality if it broke. Jazz would likely have taken or made a suicide mission. I expect I would have remained until the war ended, then faded. Either result would have been disastrous to war effort."

"He would have--" Jazz repeated, with a confused flicker. "No, I mean, if it was that easy to break, you would have been targeted..." He trailed off. "'Decreased functionality' isn't a Prowlism for 'dead,' is it?"

"No." Prowl said carefully. "A broken bond for us does not mean immediate deactivation. Many _choose_ to deactivate shortly after their bonded. That is a matter of grief, not physics. It is intensely painful, but it is not inherently fatal. I do not know if our bond will take us both when one goes, but I do know that if I am the survivor, it will not be for long by choice. It is likely to deactivate you, because in your spark you expect it to."

"We die, when it breaks," Jazz said. "Immediately. Merges were even used to assassinate. Suicide agents would target high ranking officers who were otherwise difficult to assassinate and spend vorns pretending to be a lover before coaxing one." He grinned. "'S how Prowl and I met, I was tracking a few and one of them was trying to get into him. He played it out long enough for me to find their entire cell."

Prowl shuddered at the idea. "That is a ... disturbingly good tactic. I think I am glad it does not work here."

"I think I'm glad the war is over here," Jazz said, resting his head back against Prowl's chest, tracing his fingers idly around the edges. "Bonded," he purred, switching tracks to something happier. 

"As I am, my bonded," Prowl purred, his light hold turning caressing. "We have both wanted this too long, given up too much for it. I intend to have a long happy existence with you."

"That sounds kind of sappy and a lot spectacular," Jazz grinned against him, and his fingers began to stroke more suggestively. "Again?"

"As often as we can," Prowl rumbled eagerly, his chest plates already parting.

* * *

It was a strange comparison and Jazz knew it, but he couldn't help but compare the spark bond he was forming with Prowl to a sparkling, something he needed to care for and nurture, guide as it grew, watch over until it was strong enough to stand on its own. He'd come to terms with never creating with his bonded long ago, so to have something that could act as somewhat of a stand-in was appreciated. 

He glanced up for the tenth time that klik to where Prowl was sitting in a back corner, doing what work he could from a club table and portable worktop, smiling as he did with a flush going through his field. Prowl felt it across the bond and glanced up, like he did every time, to meet his gaze and return the smile before they both returned to their work. 

They were being ridiculous, and they knew it, and they couldn't really bring themselves to care. 

Jazz reached the bottom of the front counter supply of arsenic and jumped down to head into the back out of habit, not really thinking about the additional distance until he was almost to the end of the supply room and felt a sharp _pull_ in his spark, a stretch that shocked him into freezing. His frame took a step back without thinking about it and then Prowl was _running_ to him, the beat of his pedefalls hard and close to panic.

Prowl's arms were around him and the pain subsided completely, though not the frightening memory of it.

"That was our limit for now," Prowl murmured as he forced himself to settle. His field and the bond gave no doubt as to what he wanted, but he was less self-assured about suggesting a merge out here, in the relative open of the club's back room.

Jazz, on the other hand, had no such reservations and after a quick comm to Blaster and Spoiler, pulled Prowl with him against a wall, jumping up to hold onto him as his chest split. "Did I damage it?" he asked, trying hard to keep his anxiety down. Everything about this was new, and he didn't like _new_ when the consequences could be so severe. 

"No. Nothing so serious," Prowl shivered at the intent obvious in Jazz's field and unlocked his chest without hesitation. "Nothing that won't be repaired and more with a merge."

Jazz relaxed enough to back down from the potential panic point he'd been reaching and let his crystal spiral open, waiting for his lover to join him. 

They slipped easily into the merge, motions that had become so familiar by this point after a decaorn of regular care for the bond, caressing and feeling each other all over to assess and reassure that everything was safe and well. Then their sparks and wills focused on weaving a few more strands into the bond, deepening the link between their sparks with the full intent of becoming a single spark one orn. It would take many centuries, but with this they were patient and willing.

~Love you, my Jazz, my bonded.~ Prowl sang through their merged spark, all his joy and relief at that truth echoing though them.

~Love you always,~ Jazz's song answered to the spark that was his mate, no matter the frame it was in or the designation it took. 

Once they were settled again, with their chests closed and their frames cooling, Prowl followed Jazz to pick up the needed supply, intent on not being out of sight range for a while, both of them still mildly unsettled by what had happened and happy for the excuse to stay close. 

Then it was back to work, Jazz murmuring lovingly to Prowl as they caressed their helms together before the Praxian reluctantly returned to his back table. 

Spoiler gave Jazz a soft smile. "All righ'?"

"Yeah," Jazz sighed happily, and settled back into his rhythm. 

It wasn't long after that that Ironhide, Sideswipe and Hot Rod all came through the entrance, greeting the newly bonded couple with loud, slightly overcharged shouts that were an exception instead of a norm in Jazz's club. 

Ironhide and Sideswipe went immediately over to Prowl while Hot Rod veered up to the bar to order drinks. 

"Congratulations," Ironhide rumbled, optics locking briefly on the golden paint gracing the center of Prowl's chevron shield. "Finally got around to it huh?"

"Yes, finally indeed. He needed to be ready," Prowl's engine purred, even his field expressing a kind of content happiness that was not normal for him. "And you needed to have moved on," he glanced at Sideswipe, but his optics and attention soon refocused on what was happening near Jazz. 

The warrior shrugged and ruffled his armor. "Happy for you," he said. "Glad you found what you needed, think I did too." He glanced at Ironhide with a bit of a smirk. "Big, uncouth, rowdy, and loud." 

Ironhide cuffed him around the back of the helm. "How about young, wet-a'hind th' audials, skimpy, an' excitable for ya?" he growled, but the subharmonics were fond. 

"Yes, I'm pleas...." Prowl's words faded as a growl rose from his engine and he stood, his focus on Hot Rod and Jazz.

Ironhide didn't even take time to look, he just grabbed Sideswipe's arm and pulled him out of the way as Prowl's armor fluffed, combat-ready in a display that was no longer normal for any of them. 

Hot Rod was leaning across the counter with an overcharged grin on his face, one hand on the arm that Jazz had held his drink out with, looking like he was getting ready to pounce him right there. "Lookin' deliciously syncable my mech," he purred.

"Mine." Prowl's engine snarled as a growl rose from his vocalizer, a wordless warning that the mech was about to lose his grip on acceptable behavior. Ironhide stayed close behind him as he stalked over, intent on keeping Hot Rod functioning. It had been generations since he had witnessed a mate so protective of another, and it felt good to the old guardian that the ability to form such a bond had managed to survive.

Jazz glanced at his approaching mate with a hint of a smile before looking back to Hot Rod. "Not so sure you wanna be doin' that, mech," he said. 

"Why not?" Hot Rod asked, completely oblivious until Prowl was right on top of him.

"Because he is _not_ available." Prowl's snarl was utterly unlike him, the flare of his field that of a mech with a singular purpose. He grabbed Hot Rod's arm and yanked, pulling the slightly shorter and noticeably lighter mech into the brunt of the protective rage in his field. "Jazz is _mine_."

"Whoa, hey there!" Hot Rod said, as he very suddenly realized exactly how much danger he was in and loosened his armor in a very risky move, but one that showed his submission and willingness to be vulnerable to the angry mate. He still cringed, expecting a strike of some kind. 

"Prowl," Jazz trilled soothingly, reaching out for his mate and well aware that Ironhide was ready to move if this went south.

The combination was enough to loosen Prowl's grip, but not his hold. "Never touch my bonded again."

"Right, yeah, anything you say," Hot Rod said with the most charming grin he could manage.

Prowl's engine growled again, but he let go of the overcharged youth to focus on stroking Jazz's arm, covering the places where Hot Rod had touched with his own.

"Come on, kid," Ironhide tugged at Hot Rod's arm. "Let's go somewhere ya won't get slagged."

"Your drink," Jazz said, nodding to the cube on the counter. "He already paid," he told Ironhide with a shrug. "Just bring the cube back later, or don't, whatever."

"Yeh all righ'," Ironhide said, taking the cube and inclining his helm to Prowl. "Sorry, jus wan'ed t' stop by an' say hi." He looked to Jazz. "And congratulations, of course."

"No problem, and thanks," Jazz grinned at him, while Prowl leaned over the counter to rest the golden glyphs on their forehelms together in a move that got an undisguised rev of Hot Rod's engine, and not much quieter a one from Sideswipe.

"He's still fraggin' _hot_ ," Sideswipe rumbled before the trio were out of audial range.

Jazz grinned from it as his hands moved up to Prowl's chest in a provocative caress that garnered encouraging calls from the entire room. "You know this is really Ratchet's fault," he purred to his mate.

"And the fault of high grade, youthful ignorance and a culture that doesn't believe in being exclusive," Prowl rumbled as his armor shivered. "Think you can sit with me for a few kliks?"

"Yeah I think so," Jazz said, and jumped right over the counter to grab hold of Prowl and hang on as he carried him back to the table, sitting down and settling Jazz in his lap. Jazz leaned in for a deep kiss, uncaring of being watched, and happy to make the public claim. He was even happier when Prowl kissed him back just as ardently, and the blatantly erotic touches as Prowl's fingers circled his interface panel. They had the attention of the entire club at this point, and Jazz was the only one close enough to teek the nervous pride in Prowl's field as they made out in both ways.

"Love you," Prowl's whisper was deep with devotion and adoration as their forehelms rested together and Jazz caressed a circle around Prowl's interface panel, both of them opening quickly. The familiar set of cable exchanges was quick and efficient, bringing their systems in sync with each other. Jazz grinned, Prowl shivered, and everyone watching smiled.


	15. Saying Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tissue warning: this ch caused author tears on writing and editing and will when reading later. Not the happy kind either.

After all this time, Jazz still didn't have security clearance for Prowl's private office. Not that he was one bit surprised by it, but it was still just the tiniest bit insulting to the former Special Operations commander to have to ask to be let through a door.

He needed to talk to the AI. So far, he'd only met it once, shortly after he'd arrived, and it had been unsettling enough that he'd stayed away from it. But now that they were bonded, knowing that the personality components of the mech who'd come before him were still active and powered by an incredibly adaptive AI program...

It was hard. They'd talked about it, and agreed. The AI didn't belong there anymore. It served no purpose other than to be a grim anchor to the past, and to painful memories. 

"Jazz," he whistled softly as he entered.

The familiar silver form materialized on the near side of Prowl's desk. "Jazz," it responded smoothly, using the most current variation of the foreign mech's designation, the one Prowl had designed for him.

Jazz cycled his vents and steadied himself. He needed to be careful. This was a powerful program with a will to _exist_ that he understood intimately, and it gave him no advantage. He hadn't been able to conquer his own will to deactivate, getting another version of himself to do so wasn't going to be any easier. He faced the hologram. "We've bonded, Prowl and I."

"I know," it responded with a trill of pleasure mingled with sadness. "You've made Prowl happy in a way I never could."

"You would have, if you'd had the chance," Jazz said, stepping forward at a careful, measured speed. He held his hand out for the silver mech, and felt how his spark responded so warmly to the visual. He could feel Prowl behind him, just a few paces away. "I wish you'd had that chance. Just like I wish I'd had a chance with Prowl." His first Prowl.

"Yes, we would have." The silver holoform Jazz rested his hand on the living Jazz's hand, palm to palm, claws clicking along his wrist, allowing the living mech to teek and feel the energy of the half-solid form. It was a strange combination of flat and alive. Much of the emotional programming had survived, but not that extra part that made a mechanism _living_. This was an AI, an unbelievably advanced AI, but it was not alive and Jazz could feel that.

Jazz could also feel the building pain across the bond as Prowl was faced not with talking about shutting this AI down, but seeing his first mate, his chosen forever-love, and knowing that the form that looked, moved, thought and spoke as that love was about to shut down forever.

"There's something you can still do," Jazz said quietly. "To help him be happy. Something I have to ask of you now if we ever want a chance at a healthy life."

The silver mech cocked his helm and Prowl's vents stalled. _Pain_ crashed through the bond and their fields, along with the reality that Prowl was holding it back as best he could. He loved Jazz, the living one, enough to bond with and bond strongly. He'd processed a lot of his grief and reason for living, and just simply functioning, over the vorns. He still wasn't ready to never see or speak to this Jazz again.

He never would be, either.

Jazz acknowledged that if their positions were reversed, he wouldn't be doing any better than Prowl right now. He might not be able to hold as silent on it as Prowl was managing right now.

"You would have me deactivate the AI programs," the holoform stated.

Jazz tilted his helm in confirmation. "Yes. Download your knowledge and information databanks, and deactivate the AI. You have too much memory and experience to casually waste, but you're too sophisticated and lifelike to leave active. I'm not jealous of you. I'm not afraid of losing him. But I want to cut this tie for him, since he can't do it on his own. And I'm hoping you will be able to see me as an authority who can give that order."

The AI looked up at Prowl, then stepped away from Jazz. "Com'ere love," he said softly.

Prowl sank to his knees and pulled the holoform, now completely solid, against himself as he allowed his vents to sob, rattling and clicking in distress. The bond with his living mate was open, he'd never hidden how much he loved his first mate and they both knew the loss would always hurt. They had it in common.

"You know it's for the best," the holoform murmured, caressing the sides of Prowl's helm as their forehelms rested together. "You needed to have let me go long ago."

"He's not you," Prowl objected, but even he knew it was a hollow argument.

"He better not be," the AI grinned, though Prowl couldn't really see it. "There's only one Jazz. You know he's waiting for you. Your bonded knows you love your first mate. You'll work it out when it's spark to spark with none of these frames to get in the way."

Prowl trembled, hurting and wanting this to not happen.

"Prowl, go _live_ with a _living_ mate. You love him. He loves you. You know Jazz would not want you to grieve when you have that," the AI pressed. "You have to let go."

It pulled back lightly, only to have Prowl tighten his grip.

Jazz dimmed his optics and blacked out his visor, looking away. He'd wished for something like this with his first mate so many times, but to see it ... almost made him glad that his love's frame had been irrecoverable. He couldn't imagine having to go through this. It tore open wounds that had been long sealed over, leaving them fresh and raw as the moment they'd happened. Centuries of progress left in tatters. Prowl would need a lot of help to put himself back together. Help, care and time. A lot of time.

The holoform relaxed back into the grip, allowing Prowl to take what he needed. Slowly, over more than three joors, the grip loosened, bit by bit. Prowl's optics had turned off by that point, but he powered them on and simply looked at the holoform. With a slight nod, the AI stepped back, and faded from view.

"J-Jazz?" Prowl looked over at his living mate, the designation called the correct one.

Jazz was right there, arms around him and bringing his helm Prowl's, holding tightly. "I'm going to instruct it to shut down now," he said quietly.

Despite how Prowl's spark was screaming for it not to happen, the mech nodded weakly.

"It has already been done," Metroplex informed them. "It shut down thirty-eight nanokliks after deactivating the holoform. That data has been transferred. The processors have melted down as per SpecOps protocol."

Jazz's grip tightened. "Thank you, Metroplex," he said, and it was hard to keep his voice steady against the grief that was seeping off of Prowl. He pressed his lips to his bonded's helm. "Merge with me."

Prowl didn't say a word. The only sound was his chest plates opening and a surge of _yes-want-please-heal_ across bond and field.

Jazz soothed and stroked as his armor parted in answer. Their sparks came together easily. ~This, feel _this_ ,~ Jazz whispered through the merge. ~This spark is still living and with you.~

~Love you,~ Prowl whispered in return, gratefully sinking into the comfort and warmth of life. There was no regret to choosing to live, to choosing the living mate to his deactivated one. Nowhere in Prowl's spark was regret, only grief for what he had lost long ago.

Strong arms encircled Jazz, holding him tightly in the careful, not-completely-free-will movements of the merge protocols. Inside their sparks, Prowl calmed, recovered some from the momentary horror-despair as it defused into a painful, though healthy grief. They both knew that grief would take time to dim, but they had time now, and good reason to encourage Prowl's recovery.

~I will always miss him,~ Prowl murmured a truth he'd long acknowledged, but never completely grasped.

~Yes,~ Jazz said. ~We'll always miss them, nothing will ever change that.~ He caressed Prowl's spark, understanding the loss and not trying to do anything to lessen it, but just holding him through the grief as it ebbed, surged and ebbed again, gradually settling into a background ache.

~Because we will never forget what they were to us,~ Prowl eventually sighed, shivering, though his chamber didn't move a micron. ~Not going to be up for much fun for a while,~ he apologized, all but oblivious to the overload of their frames except that it meant their sparks began to pull apart.

~Lover,~ Jazz sighed, nuzzling, and shuddered as their sparks finished separating. "'M not gonna _want_ much fun for a while," he said, with a bitter smile. "I just watched you go through Pit, _cuddling_ is on the roster now."

Prowl gave a shaky smile and rested his forehelm against his mate's. "I would like that."


	16. Life Finds a Way

It was getting harder to boot up in the morning, but Jazz figured it was from all the interfacing and the strain of the forming bond, and didn't think about it. He was still getting up and getting through everything--he'd even managed to fit in some work for Mirage, even if he couldn't resume anything that took him off-planet yet--and it wasn't a problem. Everything else was functioning well. 

But when he powered up to the feeling of _distress_ over the bond, he quickly onlined his vision and looked up at Prowl, alarmed. "What's wrong?"

"You did not wake to your internal alarm. I have been trying to wake you for three and a half kliks," the Praxian relaxed significantly now that Jazz was speaking.

"Oh," Jazz said, frowning as he looked inward. The alarm had gone off, and been immediately shut down by an internal self-monitoring system. "Why did it..." He started to sit, and then slumped, still feeling as tired as he had when he'd gone into recharge. "I'm getting a read that I still need recharge," he said, confused.

"You've been recharging for seven and a half joors," Prowl said uneasily even as he opened a comm line and pinged Ratchet. "You never needed this much before. Come. We should see a medic. It may be the bond, or something related to your origins catching up to you."

"After work," Jazz insisted. "All the self-checks and scans are coming back clean, I'm just a little drained."

"Jazz, there is time now," Prowl's concern, his growing fear for his bonded flickered across their bond that was already described as very strong. "Please."

Jazz hesitated, looked at him, and then nodded while he pulsed reassurance. "Ratchet can see me now?"

"Yes." Prowl offered his hand. "Can you walk there?"

"Yes, I can walk," Jazz said as he pushed unwilling systems into standing. The need to _rest_ started scrolling by repeatedly on his HUD, insistent that he return to recharge immediately, but he dismissed the notices and dutifully made his way down to medbay. Prowl said nothing of the slower pace he was using, a speed that had been decreasing for several orns now. He simply remained close, the bond and his field humming with support, care and concern.

When they entered the medbay it was to Ratchet, First Aid and Wheeljack, though the junior medic was busy doing maintenance on one of the tables, and Ratchet was the one who came over to see them. 

"Lay down," the gruff old medic motioned to a medical berth.

Jazz sighed and obeyed, hopping up and laying on his back, looking at the medic. "Notices say I still need another five joors of recharge," he said.

"So nearly double what you should need," Ratchet hummed as he began the scanning process. "What about you, Prowl?"

"There has been no appreciable increase," the Praxian answered as he tried not to fidget. "The additional breem the night before last can be attributed to normal fluctuations and Jazz's stress."

"Your systems seem to be running all right, but you have a lot of self-repair nanites. Enough you should have been critical a few orns ago, which you clearly weren't," Ratchet scowled as he began to go over the readings. After a while, he huffed. "Now, I can't be completely certain because of your biology being so different, but this is definitely looking like more recharge than you need, and your spark's temperature is higher than it's been in the past. Do you know if that is normal for your species after a bond?" 

"Uh ... I don't think so," Jazz said. "But there wasn't a lot of bonding going on for most of my life..." 

Ratchet nodded, frowning. "I'd like to run some more focused scans on your spark, it's the only abnormality I can find. Is that all right?" He glanced at Prowl as well as Jazz, needing the proven-territorial mate's permission as well as the patient's. 

Prowl nodded agreeably, relaxed around the medic he trusted and in a setting where the request made sense.

"Yeah, that's fine," Jazz said.

With a nod and private relief that they were both being very reasonable Ratchet began the deeper scans, and scowled again. "Prowl, please lay down on that table so I can get scans of your spark."

Prowl complied without question but he still gave an unsettled look to both medic and mate.

"The frequency has changed slightly," Ratchet explained. "I want to know if yours has."

Prowl nodded his understanding and opened his chest for Ratchet to begin the scans on him. When he finished, he shook his head. "Yours is unchanged." He looked at Jazz. "Can you remember anything, anything at all about how a bond might change a spark?" 

Jazz gave a frustrated sigh. "No, I've never heard of anything like that. Nothing." 

"Then we'll just have to take a closer look," Ratchet turned his attention to Jazz as Prowl settled his armor, stood and got as close as he dared to his mate.

With Jazz's armor parted and spark chamber spiraled fully open, Ratchet began to scan again, focusing and refocusing his optics to different frequencies and microscopic layer differences. Suddenly he stiffened and First Aid was at his side immediately.

"I have found the issue. There is an energy parasite attached to your spark, Jazz." Ratchet said calmly, though the flurry of activity on the medical frequencies spoke of something far more serious. "That is why you are feeling so tired."

"Can you remove it?" Prowl focused on the medic.

"Yes. I have seen this before, when I was an intern. They are extraordinarily rare, but spark parasites are in the medical documentation."

"Parasite?" Jazz repeated, but in the back of his processor, panic was starting to grow, and it had nothing to do with threat to himself. "Are you sure? What causes it? Where does it come from?" 

"Calm down, it was found soon enough that you'll survive," Ratchet focused on settling the agitated mech before that agitation could spread to his mate. "One has a known origin as an alien life form that feeds on concentrated energy. Another seemed to have developed native to Cybertron. We never found the cause for others. We do know how to remove them when they are this small."

"You're _sure_ that's what it is?" Jazz pressed. "Can you match its frequency, density, anything?" 

"Not exactly," Ratchet said, using every calming protocol he had on the visibly distressed mech, "But they're rare and largely undocumented, so I'm not surprised to find a new variant that is attracted to your systems. What I'm more concerned about is you possibly being vulnerable to a strain that doesn't affect us, and it using you to jump. Prowl's spark has already been exposed to it." 

"But you don't _know_ ," Jazz said. "You don't _know_ it's a parasite." 

"I know it's one I've never seen before, I know that these variants of parasites exist and are fatal if untreated, and I know that it has to be destroyed now before it mutates and makes a leap to someone else," Ratchet said firmly. "This is a matter of public safety right now." And the flurry of activity over the medical comm lines suddenly made more sense. 

And it meant that Ratchet was not going to accept the plea of, _Wait and see._

"Now if you could just stay open, we can start in just a few kliks. New or not, it has to come out."

Jazz stared at him, and things were falling into place, what his symptoms would have meant in his native universe, what a far more likely cause than a rare spark parasite could be. An option that he'd never thought of because he didn't believe it was _possible_ \--and Ratchet was coming at him with a long tool with glowing mesh on the end.

"Now I know it looks frightening, but it's completely harmless--" Ratchet started, as much for Prowl's benefit as Jazz's, and Jazz realized it was going to go into his spark and _burn out his_ \--

Something clicked in the back of Jazz's processor, ancient coding that was so hardwired in that not even the SpecOps protocols had managed to eradicate it from him, and the world turned into _Threat_ and he needed to be gone, _now_. 

His crystal spiraled shut, pulled down, and his chest snapped shut as every battle protocol he had flared online and he was on his pedes in an instant, jumping past the medic and transforming, accelerating for the door. Past that, he needed to get past Metroplex and _survive_.

"Jazz!" Prowl's commanding voice was backed by terror-panic-pleading over the bond.

"Jazz, please calm down," Metroplex's deep rumble echoed through his entire frame as Jazz raced through corridors, seeking the nearest window. It would be suicidal for most, but Jazz had made far scarier leaps to save his life, and his magnetic systems would save him. He just had to get out of the metrotitan before it decided to lock him in.

"I am calm, Metroplex," Jazz promised. And he was, and he sent that pulsing over the bond. Everything was settling in, mission protocol and training was taking the fear away. Fear was detrimental to success. "I am calm, I just need to move for a moment." At the last moment, he veered almost 90 degrees and crashed through a window, transforming mid-leap and falling until he caught onto the side and stopped almost immediately. 

Careful pulsing of the magnets got him down, and then he was away again, racing for the gate of the last wall between him and safety. 

::Jazz, what is going on?:: Prowl's comm reached him, the voice pleading. In the background, Jazz could hear both sets of sirens racing to catch up.

::I swear, it is not a dangerous procedure!:: Ratchet chimed in, the only reason he could find for Jazz's fleeing. 

Jazz shut them out, turned the translating software off and continued to push as much reassurance as he could over the bond. He would be safe. He would fix everything, he would make it okay, and then he could come back. 

But _only_ when it was safe. And with that medic with that _weapon_ it wasn't safe until he had something solid to protect. 

The gates were closing, they would be shut by the time he got there, but revving his engine up he got to his top speed, transformed into root mode with a tumble, landing on his pedes and _launching_ straight up, latching onto the wall and scrambling up and over, and then he was racing through the outer city and into the wastelands of the planet they called their home. 

* * *

It had been three orns since Ratchet had tried to terminate the tiny new spark orbiting Jazz's and by the time Jazz had settled enough to find a small cave system with multiple entrances, and thus multiple escape routes, the bond was pulsing with Prowl's calmness. His bonded was concerned, but calm, centered and doing his best to push that sensation across to Jazz.

Jazz returned it--he knew Prowl wouldn't understand why he'd fled, but he'd explain everything once it was safe--and was grateful that his mate trusted him enough to not panic on his behalf. Getting back into the limits of the city for energon was a problem he would very quickly be needing to face, as well as stocking up on enough for when he wasn't able to move. And that was going to come faster for him than it was supposed to, just from the exhaustion of being in a universe where his mate would be unable to help him with the forming sparkling. A carrier could build a sparkling with his own frame, but it would be draining for him. 

So the primary concern right now was fuel. On the up side, he didn't technically need to steal it, so long as the Nightbird continued to operate. It was outside Metroplex, so it was in the safe zone for his activities. Yes, it would be a place he'd be looked for, but until Prowl issued an arrest warrant for him the few kliks it would take him to get in and out were of very low risk. There were plenty of bars that wouldn't miss a cube or two of high grade along the way as well.

With those thoughts in mind, Jazz settled in for some much-needed recharge. He was roused by a comm ping from his mate and a pulse of _calm-safe_ over the bond. After a moment of thought, he turned the translation software back on and accepted the ping. ::Everything is fine, everything is under control,:: he promised.

::I am unarmed,:: Prowl promised first. ::I just wish to speak with you.::

::You are speaking with me,:: Jazz said.

::Face to face,:: Prowl clarified. ::I wish to see and teek that my bonded is healthy.::

::You don't believe me that I'm healthy?:: Jazz asked, standing and pacing around the edges of the small cavern, trying to gauge which escape route would be the best one if he needed to change positions. 

::I want to _teek_ it,:: Prowl's tone turned pleading and not the least bit ashamed of it. ::Jazz, love, I'm unarmed, alone and no match for you in combat. You know this. Please.::

Jazz frowned and stopped, head cocked as he thought about it. He didn't answer for three kliks, long enough to start feeling anxiety over the bond. ::All right,:: he finally relented, slowly, reluctant as much as he was eager to see his bonded. His spark was starting to feel the strain from not merging. ::Just you.::

::No one else even knows I am attempting this,:: Prowl promised. ::Where will we meet?::

Jazz debated finding somewhere new, but he knew that he needed to conserve his energy, and in weighing the risk of letting Prowl know where he was and having it be betrayed to the medic against the risk of straining the sparkling, he chose to trust his mate. ::Cave system, about 5 hics southeast of Metroplex's main gates.::

::I know of it,:: Prowl responded. ::I will be there soon. With energon.::

Jazz nodded, re-checked his armor locks, his escape routes, and settled with his back to the rock in the position that gave him the fastest access to the escape route with the most complicated turns. He could get through those turns blindfolded at top speed now, but hopefully they would slow anyone else down long enough to give him a significant advantage. He'd feel better with weapons, but he still had full use of his frame. So he waited, and watched the entrance that Prowl was most likely to use. 

Eventually, headlights reflected along the walls. While the sound of Prowl's transformation and pedefalls wasn't audible at this range, the shift in the angle of the light before they turned off indicated he had.

::I have arrived at the entrance,:: Prowl announced himself over short-range comm. "Jazz?" he called out verbally.

"In here," Jazz called, his voice catching with static as he fought the urge to _run_ to Prowl. He couldn't. He needed to keep his defensible position. The wave of relief and eager anticipation over the bond didn't make it any easier, but at least Prowl was moving quickly. He could see the amount of will it took for Prowl to stop himself from rushing right to him, feel it over the bond how badly he wanted to touch and hold.

"Stop there," Jazz said, voice shaking. "Hands out."

Somehow Prowl did manage to stop several paces away and obey, demonstrating that he wasn't actively holding any weapons, just energon. Close enough to teek with effort and far enough away that the former SpecOps Commander shouldn't feel crowded.

"How are your energy levels?" Prowl asked, trying to be calm as he extended his arm with the cube of smooth high grade in offering.

"Steady, dropping faster than normal but no more than is expected," Jazz said, running every scanner he had over his mate's frame and the cube. He lifted his optics again. "I'm not sick," he said, pleading in his voice for Prowl to listen. 

Prowl took a drink of the energon cube before he knelt, his optics and sensors keeping steady on Jazz as he set the cube down, then stood and backed off enough for Jazz to claim it. "Will you tell me what is going on?"

"Ratchet thinks it's a parasite," Jazz said after downing the entire cube. "He's afraid that it'll mutate and infect all of you, but it _isn't_ a parasite. It's a..." There was no word for it, so he used his own. " _Newspark_. It's _our_ newspark." 

That word, an alien collection of sounds, sent Prowl's processors to one of his early conversations with Jazz about how new mecha came about. He felt himself sway as his tac-net scrambled to put it all together. 

"Jazz...." he stopped, shook himself out and managed to focus. "It is a parasite, just a _very good_ kind of parasite. You are sure you can carry it safely?"

"Not with Ratchet trying to burn it out," Jazz said with a soft growl from his engines. "He'll think it's too big of a risk if I'm wrong, he thinks it's a danger to the entire colony." 

"That is not what I asked," Prowl said softly, the bond pulsing with _calm-support_ as he carefully moved to sit with his legs under him and his aft on his pedes. "Can _you_ carry it safely? Will this harm you in any way before it is ready to come out? How will it come out?"

"I can carry it," Jazz said, letting his helm rest back in a sign of relaxation and trust. "I will be tired, and it will take all its material from my frame, but as long as I keep fueled it should be fine. My frame will construct the protoform, and when it is ready, the spark will..." He thought about his glyph choice. "Migrate and separate." 

Prowl nodded, carefully neutral despite how disturbing this was for him. "If it takes material from your frame, how do you replace that material?"

"I don't..." Jazz said, and suddenly he was worried. "Never really learned about this, y'know? Wasn't expected by the time I was an adult. I remember carriers taking additives with their energon but I was just a sparkling, I don't know what they were." 

Prowl nodded, now concerned but focused on keeping calm, rational and talking reason and facts for as long as Jazz would. "Do you know how long it will be before it will _migrate_ and _separate_?" he carefully mimicked the terms Jazz has used.

Jazz shook his head. "Not exactly. Something like a vorn."

"I will do what I can to ensure the Nightbird is still profitable when you can take it over again," Prowl offered as much as said. "How ... mobile will it be when it emerges?"

"Not very," Jazz said. "They're little..." He held his hands in in demonstration. "They're _fragile_ and _helpless_ and they don't even have armor!" His voice rose up to a slightly hysterical pitch. "How is it even going to get its upgrades?"

"Jazz, calm down." Prowl said firmly, pushing the desired sensations across the bond firmly. "Ratchet figured out how to upgrade you. He can work it out again. Do you have any memories or files pertaining to the upgrade stages of a _newspark_? Even just memory snaps with a general estimate of their age and stage of maturity. I will work with Wheeljack and First Aid to try to work out what minerals you will need to consume and how. First Aid still has full medical protocols rather than the combat medic ones that Ratchet operates under."

Jazz nodded quickly. "So he won't burn it out just in case?"

"Not with what you have told me, now and when you first arrived. I do remember the questions and you mentioning pregnancy. When the protoform you will build is recognizable as a mecha you should be safe from Ratchet as well. By then it will be obvious what the parasite really is." Prowl paused, his spark pushing him. "Are you sure I contributed to its creation?"

"Newsparks come from merges, they need the contributing energy of at least two mecha," Jazz said. "Since I've merged with two mechs in my life and the other was too long ago to have contributed ... yes, I'm sure." He regarded Prowl carefully. "Promise me you aren't playing along with this and secretly thinking that it's a new mutant variant of parasite controlling me. Because that's what I would think."

"I am keeping an open processor on it," Prowl said carefully. "You did mention this process when you first arrived. You are an alien. I will not lie, it worries me. If it is a new Cybertronian life, our race is no longer functionally extinct. That is a significant prize worthy of a significant risk, no matter how little I like that you are the one at risk. I intend to ask Prime about this as well. He _knows_ things that cannot be known. I would feel much better if you were in our berth."

Jazz nodded. "I'm not going back there until Ratchet swears not to touch it. I _won't_ ," he said when Prowl looked like he was going to object. "If you try to make me I'll disappear and this time I won't tell you where."

Prowl nodded faintly. "Would you consider moving into town? Somewhere close, like the Nightbird, but not inside Metroplex. I will work on Ratchet."

Jazz shrank back. "If Ratchet swears to Prime he won't touch I'll come back into Metroplex, but until then not even in the city."

Prowl sighed, his longing to hold his mate close and where he felt was safe echoing between them, but with it came acceptance. "So a vorn before it is outside your frame. How long before it is likely to be an adult? How long do I need to be prepared to give my full attention to caring for it?"

"Three hundred vorns, give or take," Jazz said, trying to soothe Prowl across the bond as he finally reached his hand out, asking his mate to come closer. "Depends on the make and size. Maybe more like two seventy."

Prowl nodded and all but scrambled to his mate, first claiming his hand, then pressing close as all will to be careful fled him. "How dangerous is carrying, by your memory?"

"Not very," Jazz promised as he wrapped his arms around and held him tightly, _relief_ flooding into his field. "Mostly I think problems came from not having enough oil or energon--starving carriers would get stuck halfway through separation and then everything would get stuck and corrode..." He shuddered. "Not a good way to go."

"That is not an issue you will have," Prowl promised as he all but enveloped the much smaller mech with his frame. "Will you allow First Aid to see to you, outside the city, if I extract a promise not to harm the newspark?"

Jazz thought carefully about it, and then nodded. "You have to be there." 

"Always," Prowl murmured, holding his bonded tightly. "Always. Through everything and anything, I will be there for you."

"I know," Jazz sighed, as he came fully down from mission protocol for the first time since he'd fled Metroplex, relaxing completely in Prowl's arms, and then smiled. "We're gonna have a sparkling," he said with a trill.

Prowl shivered, and it was with excitement instead of dread. "We ... may have more than one, eventually?"

"I expect so, unless someone around here has developed a contraceptive net for spark merging," Jazz said with a grin, "Because I sure don't know how to build one and I'm _not_ going to go forever without merging."

"Neither will I," Prowl nuzzled the top of Jazz's helm. "So ... what about merging before it separates? Is that permitted?"

"Yes, _oh_ yes," Jazz said, tipping his head back to pull Prowl down into a kiss that was returned passionately with much relief.

"Good," Prowl groaned and unlocked his chest plates. "I missed you."

"You know why I had to run," Jazz said, as his chest split and parted, pulling back to offer his chamber with the tiny, brilliantly white mote orbiting around his spark up to his mate. 

"I know," Prowl said quietly as their sparks rushed together, eager to be merged after the unexpected absence.

Even if Prowl's processors didn't fully accept what that tiny mote was, his spark recognized it as part of itself, just as Jazz's spark knew, and was eager to strengthen both newspark, carrier and bond.

* * *

Optimus Prime was still settling into the confusing information that filtered into him from the ancients and the Maxtrix about the future of their kind and what form it was going to take. It was not an easy thing to absorb, even for him. He was not truly ready to speak with Prowl when the mech requested an audience, but he knew delay was not in their best interest. He did his best to settle and get ready to face the agitated and unsettled tactician and ... _new creator_ when he came.

The door opened as soon as Prowl pinged his arrival, and Optimus gestured for him to sit. "I have been hearing some things," he said, voice low and serious. "I hope you can explain a bit more."

Prowl's posture straightened just a tiny bit as all thoughts of why he had come fled. His processor fully focused on his Prime and duty, Jazz and the newspark were pushed to the back. "What is the subject, Prime?"

Prime steepled his fingers together on his desk, regarding his long-loyal SIC. "If my guess as to where you've been is correct--yes, I know that you were outside the city limits for quite some time--I believe it may be the same subject you've come here to talk to me about. How is Jazz?"

"That is what I wished to speak with you about," Prowl acknowledged. "It is a very delicate situation in several respects. He has been unusually tired for a significant period and I convinced him to be seen by a medic. Ratchet discovered what he classified as a spark parasite. When he attempted to remove it, Jazz responded as if it were a threat to his own functioning and escaped."

Prime nodded. This much he'd learned from Ratchet four orns before.

"When my initial search for Jazz failed to find him, I waited until the bond had settled enough to indicate he was in recharge, collected a cube of high grade and several standard grade and did my best to follow the bond to him. I commed ahead and he agreed to see me. He explained that the parasite is actually a newspark, a new Cybertronian life, and while shocking because of the species of its other creator, it is a very normal way for his kind to create. Thus he is tired, in need of more energon and will soon need additional supplements to support the creation of the frame his own will soon build for this newspark. He is otherwise in reasonably good condition."

"Will you tell me where he is?" Prime asked carefully, making the subharmonics as unthreatening as possible. He had no wish to harm Jazz, but despite the sensations he was getting from the Matrix, he still couldn't completely dismiss Ratchet's concerns. He wanted to get in close as he could to the alien mech as soon as possible to see what he could sense on his own.

"I...." Prowl wavered, torn between the reflex to protect his mate and creation and the reflex to answer his Prime. "I would," he eventually managed, though it wasn't easy. "He has agreed to allow First Aid to see him. You could come?"

"That would be acceptable," Prime said. "Tell me what _you_ believe of his condition."

"My spark believes. My processor is less sure, however he did speak of such a method for creation shortly after his arrival. Even Ratchet is certain it was not there after we bonded. While I cannot discount the possibility of a parasite, the probability that this Jazz's spark has managed to reproduce is twelve hundred times more likely than an unknown type of spark parasite from an unknown origin that has not infected me despite how often we have merged."

"I will take that into account," Prime said, inclining his helm. "Along with Ratchet's theories and observations. Should the situation be deemed too risky, we can at least isolate him if he refuses to have the object removed, and monitor his condition with limited contact until we are more certain. Ratchet is strongly convinced it is a parasite that has accessed the motor and cognitive functions to preserve its own well being." 

"As far as I know, Ratchet is not even aware that Jazz's kind reproduce this way," Prowl replied. "Jazz has chosen to isolate himself. He will not return to the city until Ratchet has sworn not to remove the parasite. Fortunately, Jazz and I have been exclusive for far longer than the parasite has been there so there is minimal risk to the general population at this time. However, if Jazz is correct and this is a new Cybertronian life, we are no longer a functionally extinct species. That is worth a great deal of risk."

"It is," Prime rumbled with a smile. "I have been getting a sense of continuity from the Matrix the last several orns, and recently it has clarified into feeling there is a future for us. Perhaps his being brought here was for more than just your benefit."

"I would be far more surprised if such an act was only for the benefit of two mecha," Prowl admitted. "As grateful as I am to have him, the odds are strongly against one of us having earned such attention." He hesitated. "Do you believe you can teek the difference between one of us and something else?"

"I am almost certain of it," Prime said. "It is one of the reasons I would like to know where he is. I have encountered parasitic hosts before, they all had a very distinct feeling. You will let me know as soon as you are going to him."

"I will, Prime." Prowl promised. "I intend to speak with First Aid to arrange that meeting, then return to my office until we leave."

* * *

While First Aid finished his shift and Prowl caught up on his work, Optimus Prime focused on centering himself for the contact to come. It would either be one of great joy or great danger and he needed to be prepared for both. He knew very well not to underestimate any mecha with the spark of Jazz. Still, when Prowl pinged him that they were ready to leave, it was too soon and not soon enough.

The giant stood, settled his armor and walked steadily to the gate where Prowl and First Aid were waiting for him.

"Would you prefer for us to follow blind?" Optimus asked the visibly agitated mech who was looking like he was thinking twice about leading potential dangers to his vulnerable mate, an offer for both First Aid and himself to turn off all of their positional sensors and ground tracking, and to follow Prowl based on sight alone with no way to retrace the route.

"Thank you," Prowl's relief rippled through his field. "I would appreciate that."

Optimus nodded and looked to First Aid, who inclined his helm in understanding and complied with his Prime's wishes. That done, they both looked at Prowl. "Lead the way," Prime said. 

Prowl transformed and led them both away from the city, anxiety and a savage protectiveness for his mate keeping his sensors sweeping around them on full, every weapons system primed to engage by hot-holding their circuitry. It would give him an advantage of nanokliks, if that, but even that had saved his life before, and now he was responsible for Jazz's. His mate was physically weakened, and he had no way to know how much he would be affected as the joors went by. 

Once they were in sight of the cavernous hills, he knew that at least Prime would be able to find his way back if he wanted to--it was a known natural landmark--but knowing that he'd kept Jazz as safe as he could was enough. It was all he could do. If this didn't go very well, they'd be in a new location before either of the others could return to Narali.

Prowl transformed first. ::Jazz. We are here.::

::Just you, Prime, and First Aid?:: Jazz asked, just short of a demand, and Prowl could hear that he was trying as hard as he could to hold his panic back. His mate had warned him of the strength of the protocols that were coming online in him for the first time, whatever he could remember and what he'd already been feeling. From what Prowl had heard and observed, carriers who felt threatened became hyper-vigilant and untrusting of all but those who were closest.

::Yes. It is only the three of us,:: Prowl promised, pushing safety and calm across the bond as best he could. ::We have planned. We are ready. First Aid is incapable of fighting except in self defense and Prime will not touch you unless you agree.::

::All right,:: Jazz said, and Prowl knew it was only his trust of _Jazz's_ Optimus Prime that was getting this one through the door. ::You come in first.::

::Of course, love,:: Prowl assured him. "Follow me, and not too closely," he told his companions before stepping forward to enter the cave calmly and steadily. They followed quietly and obediently, First Aid and then Optimus, looking around the inner cavern Jazz had chosen as his shelter. Optimus had to stoop over to fit inside; there was barely enough extra head space for Prowl. 

The small mech was against the wall and Prowl had already reached him, standing between his mate and the two newcomers. 

"Hello, Jazz," Optimus said warmly and calmly. "May I teek you?" 

Jazz regarded him for a long, silent moment, and then nodded and stepped past Prowl, coming forward. Their fields reached cautiously, then slid along one another, familiar and comfortable. 

"Good," Prime said. "May I teek deeper?" 

Prowl came up behind Jazz, hands resting lightly on his mate's shoulders. "Go ahead," Jazz said. 

Optimus pushed deeper, feeling and searching for something he'd never experienced before. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he knew... 

_There_. There was a _life_ there, one he'd never felt before. It tasted like Prowl, and Jazz, had their colors and frequencies, but it was still _unique_. "Amazing," he murmured, staring at Prowl with bright, wide optics. 

"Then Jazz is correct. We did somehow create a new spark," Prowl shivered and held his mate tightly from behind, joy radiating off him as a huge workload was dumped from his core processors.

"Toldja," Jazz said, relaxing, his face shifting into an easy grin and snuggling back against the joyous mate behind him.

"So I can scan, without risk?" First Aid asked with a warm smile, everything about his tone and posture saying _medic_ and _safe_.

"Yes," Optimus said, moving out of the way to sit down on the floor and watch.

"Prowl, when you are ready, I do need you to move an arm's length away so I can scan him properly," First Aid said politely, instinctively aware of what he was also consciously aware of: these two parted when they were ready and not before.

Prowl nodded and tipped Jazz's face up for a soft kiss. "Ratchet will listen to Prime. Then you can come home."

Jazz relaxed at those words and nuzzled their helms together and nodded, flickering permission through his field. 

Prowl was still reluctant, but he backed away exactly how far First Aid had requested. He watched, trusting but still protective as the junior medic ran several deep scans, recording the location of every molecule in Jazz's frame.

"I would say that you are in good general health and repair, but have not gotten quite enough quality recharge," First Aid reported calmly. "How much more fuel do you consume to maintain your levels?"

"One cube of high grade per every orn and a half," Jazz said. "My fuel consumption has not increased dramatically yet."

"Yet. So you expect it to," First Aid hummed. "How much do you expect to need at the peak?"

Jazz pinched the bridge of his nose. "I remember watching carriers downing unfiltered transport fuel, but how much of that was just because it was cheap and easy to find ... Mm, my guess is, near the end of the carry, a cube of high grade every eighth of an orn."

"So five and a quarter joors," the medic hummed again and recorded it on his datapad. "This carry will take most of a vorn and the sparkling will be largely dependent on adults for care at first."

Jazz nodded and Prowl came back to wrap his arms around him.

"How long until it will be mobile and able to care for itself?" First Aid asked.

"Mobile ... give it fifty vorns and it'll be running everywhere and climbing everything. Care for itself, probably one fifty. Transformation sequences aren't possible until then. I was seventy when I started out on my own in the gutters, but that was out of necessity for survival. I _hope_ this one doesn't need that." 

First Aid nodded, humming to himself. "I hope so as well," he said. "Have you told Prowl everything you could remember about carrier care?" 

"Yes," Jazz nodded. 

"Not much to go off of," the medic sighed to himself, made some notes on his datapad, and looked back at Jazz. "For the next decaorn, I will be conducting twice-ornly scans. Until you can come to me, I will be coming to you. I am measuring your composition, down to the individual molecules. I will compile sufficient data to make a projection for how much material your frame is taking for construction, and develop the proper supplements. Can you absorb material from oral ingestion, or does it need to be manually placed?" 

"Uh ... orally," Jazz said. "Carriers added stuff to their energon." 

"Thank you," First Aid hummed, and was quiet for a few kliks making notes. After a while he lifted his optics back up. "May I ... see it?" he asked. "Is there anything to see?" 

Jazz's armor flattened and he stepped back hard against Prowl, whose engine growled.

"I'll take that as a no," First Aid took a step back and lifted his forearms vertical, his hands edge on to the couple with the palms facing outward so none of the common built-in weapons types could be aimed at them. "Not a problem. I only asked," he added quickly and did not hide his relief when they settled. "I will take this up with Ratchet when Prime is ready. If the Prime says this is a new Cybertronian life, it will be treated as such. Ratchet will not harm it once he understands."

"I will make sure he understands," Prime rumbled with utter determination. "Given the state of our species, I intend to declare causing harm to a carrier or sparkling an act of treason against our race. No matter how disturbed anyone is by this, the future of our kind is too important to allow anything but the harshest of responses to causing it harm."

Prowl nodded, pleased by the idea, and Jazz relaxed even further, feeling faint from all of the relief that replacing the panic and stress of many orns. The punishment for those crimes would be banishment or execution--considering the Prime, he guessed most would be banished, though this one did have a darker side he hadn't quite been able to pin down--which meant that anyone trying to harm him would be dealt with _severely._ It was a comfort in a world where he still got sideways looks and occasionally heard mutterings about organics while he was conveniently just within audial range. 

"After the decaorn is up, we'll reassess how often we need to scan you," First Aid was saying. "I expect the growth will accelerate near the end, if your accounts are correct, so much of this will be playing by ear ... so to speak. I'd like to take this chance to be well prepared for any future creation. If there will even be future creations," he added quickly. It was not his place to pressure a patient into making personal choices, or even to express his desire for them. 

"There will be," Jazz said, and finally smiled. "I don't know of a way to stop them from happening outside of never merging."

"Which is not going to happen," Prowl rumbled, desire vibrating in every word.

"How often would you expect to create?" First Aid asked. "It may not be healthy to do so often."

"Whenever one takes," Jazz said, shrugging with a ripple through his armor. "If it seems like it's starting to strain me we'll stop and reassess and look at ways to keep it from happening. I'm not gonna worry about that yet." 

The medic nodded his acceptance. "I believe that is all for now. Prime and I will convince Ratchet to give his word not to harm your newspark and then you will return?"

Jazz nodded once. "And not without that law being public. I'm not risking my creation because some afthead thinks it's _gross_." 

"Neither am I," Optimus rumbled with that dark-tinted determination. "The announcement will be made once I have Ratchet convinced."

"Okay," Jazz said, and leaned fully against Prowl with a satisfied hum and a strong sense of relief going over the bond. Relief that he had allies who could keep his creation safe, relief that he'd be back home with his bonded soon, relief that he wouldn't have to steal or scrounge for what he needed.

"I will comm both of you when things have been settled in the city," Prime told them before crawling out of the cave, a heavily slouched First Aid behind him.

"So we have some time to spend and nowhere to be," Prowl's hands slid along his lover's frame with clear intent. "What other kinds of overloads are good for our creation?"

Jazz purred and turned around in Prowl's arms. "I think the question you're searching for is what kinds of overloads are _bad_ for the newspark and the answer is none of them."

Prowl rumbled with a chuckle and rested their forehelms together. "Then what kind would feel best for my bonded right now?"

Jazz grinned. "I'm going to be wanting a _lot_ of your spike, lover. You don't have any transfluid for me but my frame doesn't know that and," he dropped his voice into a whisper, "I won't tell if you won't."

* * *

"Getting some new notices," Jazz purred from where he was sprawled on top of his lover, having crawled up to cuddle against his neck and upper chest after spending several delightful joors riding his spike and merging with him. "I think it's protoform construction, a lot of material movement."

"Then you will begin to ... _show_ soon." Prowl said, still a bit unsettled by the concept but doing his best not to show it much.

"Mhmm," Jazz hummed, his field just the opposite of Prowl's: excited, delighted, anticipating, giddy. "Showing carriers were always considered to be incredibly fraggable, you know."

"Because that's when fragging you means their coding is going to be passed on," Prowl pointed out as he relaxed and stroked Jazz's back. "I have no such built-in advantages. Once the newspark migrates, I will no longer be able to contribute to it."

"Maybe we can set that task to Wheeljack," Jazz murmured, thoughtful. "Some way to install bits of coding copied from you. It'll need the same translation software that I have eventually, if they can figure out how to install it before separation..." He trailed off, then shrugged. "Something to throw his way, at least. Wonder what mecha will do when I start showing."

"Yes, something to throw his way," Prowl purred, perking up some at the prospect before he growled deeply. "Nothing, if they want to live."

"You can't kill mecha for looking at me funny or staring," Jazz said firmly. "Prime wouldn't like it. And I expect there will be a lot of it."

"That's not _doing_ anything," Prowl relaxed when he realized what Jazz meant. "They will stare. They will be disturbed, even disgusted. It's not natural to any of us," he murmured as he continued to stroke his bonded's back, their sparks both humming with contentment at the proximately and health of the other. "It will likely hurt business some, though the incentive Prime offered for creating and raising a sparkling will offset that. Mecha like your personality, and your last upgrade makes you look _good_ , but this might be more than many can find enjoyable to see."

"Mm, even you?" Jazz asked, voice carefully neutral.

Prowl flinched slightly. "It is an unsettling mental image."

"Should we indulge in some vision impairment toys?" Jazz offered, both teasing and serious. It stung to have Prowl say it after all the organic-like things he had embraced so far.

"If you'd like. I would not be adverse to it," Prowl tried to keep his tone light and playful, even as he knew how hard it was for his mate to know that what was so attractive to Jazz's people was so unappealing to his mate.

"I'll see if I can find something fun," Jazz promised, lifting his head up for a nip against Prowl's lip. "Serious question. Will it be better to ignore the stares, confront them nicely, or confront them threateningly?" 

"If you have the time that moment, confront them nicely? Offer to let them teek the newspark, even touch your distention. Answer if they ask questions. Familiarity and education eases many fears," Prowl said quietly. "If it worked on me, it will work for many others."

Jazz nodded and nuzzled against Prowl's neck. Frame sire or not, he was the spark sire and Jazz's bonded, and Jazz would always desire him. "Love you," he hummed, excitement for the future filling him to the brim.

"I love you as well," Prowl tipped their faces for a kiss full of warmth and desire. "I will always love you, and I will give my best to every creation you bring into our lives."

* * *

With the protoform half built by Ratchet's estimate, Jazz was definitely showing his condition and was anything but ignorant of how disturbing it was to those around him. Even many mecha who didn't seem to give a damn about his organic-style bits were uncomfortable around him now that his frame was awkwardly different. He could deal with it, though, except for one painful exception.

Prowl.

His mate, the mech who had kindled with him, was having an ever-harder time becoming aroused as Jazz's abdominal area grew in size. Prowl would extend his spike, but without arousal to back it up, his overload was limited no matter how long Jazz rode him. Spark merging still worked, but the glaring truth of Prowl's thoughts made it less wonderful than it should be.

So it was to Jazz's surprise that instead of simply laying down with him near dawn when they were ready for recharge, Prowl touched him as a lover would. Hesitant but determined.

"I would begin to work through this issue I have," Prowl murmured softly.

Jazz powered his visor back on, looking up at him. "With my frame?"

"Yes," Prowl nodded from where he was kneeling on the berth. "It is not right that I find my bonded unattractive. I do not like that I do not desire your frame like this."

"Makes two of us," Jazz hummed, but there was no malice to it. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, regarding his mate. "What did you have in mind?"

"Perhaps remove my sight?" Prowl said tentatively. "It is the visual that is disturbing me."

"So being able to feel this," Jazz put his hands on either side of his boxy, distended abdomen, "But not see it? I can work with that." He sat up the rest of the way, pulling a dense metal mesh from his subspace, and grinned as he held it out. "I wasn't joking when I said I'd find a blindfold."

Prowl raised an optic ridge before his optics went dark and he lowered his helm for Jazz to blindfold him. "I was not expecting you to have been."

Jazz chuckled and wrapped the mesh around Prowl's helm, hooking it in the back and then settled down next to his lover on the berth, taking one of his hands and bringing it to his mouth, pressing kisses and soft licks along the fingers. "Should I ride you?" he murmured. "So you can only feel my legs? Nothing boxy there."

"I would like to try something more advanced," Prowl shivered faintly at the touch to the sensitive plating. "Do you have the patience for tactile before I fill your valve?"

Jazz's engine gave an unhappy grumble at the idea of _anything_ except his mate's spike but he flared his field in affirmative. "Anything to get your hands on me," he said quietly, nuzzling the palm he was holding.

"I promise, your valve will not go unsatisfied," Prowl rumbled and cupped Jazz's cheek to draw him into a kiss that was as passionate as any they'd shared. "Even if it means you tie me to the berth and ride me until you are sated," he whispered between their barely pared lip plates while his free hand slid along Jazz's arm.

Jazz shivered at the tone and the _heat_ beneath Prowl's voice, automatically lifting up against the touch, barely noticing the systems engaging but for the rush through his processor as his sensor net lit up from the touch. "Hold you to that," he whispered back.

"I expect you to," Prowl's mouth trailed tiny nips and licks down Jazz's jaw to his neck cabling while his hands carefully explored the smaller mech's arms, hands, then shoulders with long, sharp fingers that knew how to touch this particular frame with exquisite precision. He delighted in the trills he could draw with such ease, loved the way his mate had taken to this way of interfacing with such enthusiasm, and he was determined to learn how to desire this frame even in its current state. Touching in a way he found intrinsically erotic was hopefully going to help. Jazz's natural method of interfacing was incredibly enjoyable, but Prowl never felt true _lust_ for that. This, though, pulling soft moans and shivers from careful, deft stroking, fine enough to be an artwork, _this_ was erotic. It allowed Prowl to sink back into old code and familiar desires, joyful memories of learning his lover's frame for the first time.

Prowl's fingers slid inward and down, teasing along Jazz's sides and the relatively extensive array of cabling on his way there while he continued to explore his lover's throat cabling with his glossa.

Jazz's hands slowly moved up his arms, wrapped around his neck and helm, holding him close. Prowl could feel the vibrations from Jazz's humming engines against him, the heating armor beneath his fingertips that always came with the pleasure. 

The sides were farther apart than he was accustomed to, but it seemed to make the wiring there extra sensitive as he explored down, moaning quietly as Jazz's fingers dipped into his neck cables and stroked over his helm. It was almost enough to distract him from the sudden widening as he reached the abdomen. In this state, focused on learning his lover, Prowl accepted the new format fairly easily. So long as it made Jazz shiver and moan as the energy surged through him, Prowl simply took the information in and recorded it.

Touch to bring pleasure. Fields meshed to share the pleasure. Sound to express the pleasure. Their processors were nothing but a background guide now, taking in what made the vents hitch and heat flare.

"Love you, Jazz." Prowl's soft voice rumbled with lust and want. One hand came up to circle Jazz's chest port.

"Love you, Prowl," Jazz answered, speaking right to his spark as he spiraled open for Prowl's cable, then touched Prowl's chest in turn with his own to complete the connection. The exchange was smooth, easy and well-practiced between two mecha that did not keep many firewalls up between them. The love they felt flooded the connection the moment it opened. Desire and affection next. Only then did hints of irritation and less agreeable emotions slip in, always wrapped in why and who it was directed at.

Deep in there was Prowl's apology that being who he had been raised to be created problems for them. He knew Jazz understood what it was, not an apology for who he was, or even what he was, but grief and regret that their differences made this hard for them. Jazz couldn't help the bitterness and grief that this made him less desirable to his mate, when he'd been raised to expect the exact opposite, and Prowl understood that it wasn't anger directed at him. 

Stronger than the negative, though, was the determination to not let it drive them apart. If anything, they would use it to learn more about each other. 

With their emotions expressed, Prowl narrowed the hardline to simple feedback on their state, rather than a source of pleasure. It would still feel good, the constant flow of data carrying a charge, but it was a background note compared to what their hands garnered.

Slowly Prowl slid his hands inwards, palms flat against the abdominal region that was now as thick as Jazz's chest.

Jazz's field rippled out with _delight_ but he managed to not push into it, letting Prowl move at his own pace as he felt and explored. His charge had jumped dramatically the moment hands came flush and Jazz was trembling with the effort to stay still. "Prowl," he moaned. "Lover, love, _love_." 

~Feels so good to you,~ Prowl whispered in wonder. He forced himself to push past the bit of discomfort he still felt, burning it with the intensity of pleasure this touch gave Jazz, and continued to rub and explore the part of his mate that had changed shape. He could feel the mini factory working hard under the armor, the heat it created as it built the frame of his sparkling.

 _His_ sparkling.

The realization hit Prowl hard and he trembled in comprehension that this new life was formed from the spark energy of himself and his beloved mate.

~You understand,~ Jazz moaned with relief when he felt that. ~You-- _you_ \-- _oh_ ,~ and when Prowl _caressed_ his frame, his sparkling-heavy, distended, carrying frame, he overloaded just from the sheer ecstatic bliss in the moment. 

Prowl moaned at the wash of energy but kept his focus on supporting his mate until the smaller mech came down from the pleasure. ~Yes. It is part of me. I am part of its _spark_ ,~ Prowl whispered, stilled awed by the idea. He continued to caress Jazz's expanded frame, full of a new life that had come from _his_ spark. ~I wish the fluid I can fill you with now carried part of me, as it would have with one of your kind.~

~We'll figure it out, for the next ones,~ Jazz purred, and sent over an offering burst of charge. 

~Yes,~ Prowl groaned as he assimilated this new concept of being a creator. His hands continued to stroke Jazz's abdominal plates, exploring and enjoying the emotional pleasure it caused, helping link it in to this new frame shape, without the overwhelming visual.

Jazz sent over surge after surge of current, timed to the pulsing in his spark, relief and relaxation coming with each one, _joy_ that Prowl was touching him like this. Distantly, from the flickers of memories he could sense from across the hardline and the bond, Prowl understood that _carrier_ was considered a frame type of its own, one to be worshiped by a bonded, respected by society. The taste he was giving Jazz of that experience was creating an overwhelming, surging, blooming emotional transcendence in his bonded. 

~ _Spark,_ ~ Jazz moaned, vivid across the hardline and the faintest whisper over the bond. The echo of it had not even died out when Prowl's chest plates opened, his spark pulsing eagerly to touch its bonded, its other half.

~Yours,~ Prowl moaned eagerly.

Jazz's was right there to meet his and the merge was swift and easy, the pleasure from the mix coming back over the hardlines for both of them. The focus swirled around Prowl's new comprehension of the life Jazz carried, how it was not simply Jazz's systems responding to a population of one as other organic races were known to do. That this new life was the product of two, and Prowl was the other party.

Despite how difficult it was for parts of Prowl to grasp, his spark was more than willing to welcome this new life into his and claim it as part of himself. He could tell that Jazz loved the newspark, and while he'd always know that he suddenly understood that part of that love was _because_ it was part of Prowl. 

The merge continued, strengthening their tie to each other, pushing deeper and deeper until they were both trembling, right on the edge, full with love. 

~It was like this,~ Jazz moaned suddenly, gasping. ~When we created, it was like this, the life came from _this_.~

Prowl shivered, his spark full and bright with joy that such a moment had given so much hope to the future and joy to Jazz. It was the last thought either were aware of for a long moment.

When Prowl cycled back to awareness there was a moment of raw panic when he turned his optics on and there was only darkness.

Jazz's first reaction was to go on high alert and through the hardline Prowl was aware of foreign coding lighting to immediate attention as his mate's field became focused and protective, and then very suddenly it all backed down and everything about Jazz became _soothe, calm._

"The blindfold, love," Jazz murmured with a kiss against Prowl's chest.

It was enough. Truly, Jazz's calmness was enough to cause Prowl to relax, then teek a bit embarrassed. "Such is the overload you provide. I forget even my designation for a moment."

He could feel Jazz's answering grin against his plating, still sensitive from the overload. "Yeah, I know I'm good," he chuckled, and then rubbed his frame up against Prowl with a needy whine. Prowl heard the sound of his valve cover snapping back and could teek the now intense need and arousal.

"On your hands and knees," Prowl rumbled, aroused by the desire across the hardline, across their fields and his new understanding of why his mate's frame was changing. "You may ride me when I can no longer kneel behind you."

Jazz groaned, almost scrambling to move into the instructed position. Prowl had to feel instead of watch, but by shifting with Jazz and keeping his hands lightly on his frame, he could easily imagine what his mate would look like, head down, aft high in the air, thighs spread apart. It brought a rumble to Prowl's engine. Their height difference made it a bit awkward, but they had long ago worked out the exact angles and joint tension to make it work. 

Teasing, Prowl's thumb circled the slick valve, caressing the oval of platelets and smearing the thick lubricant through them as he stimulated the sedative ruffles.

Jazz gasped at the feeling of bare metal against his platelets, pushing up and back. " _Prowl,_ " he moaned, as his field thrummed out with impatience. "I swear to Primus..." 

"You will be doing so often," Prowl growled hotly. In a single move he had his hand out of the way, his spike buried deep, and he was leaning over his mate, covering Jazz almost completely. "After you clean my finger," he pressed the lubricant-slicked digit against Jazz's lips.

Jazz hummed deeply, all too happily taking the finger into his mouth and swirling his glossa around it, then sucking until there wasn't a trace of interface fluids left. "Better?" he purred when he was done, then moaned as Prowl thrust forward.

"Yes," the big mech rumbled against Jazz's back as he began to undulate his entire frame, rubbing them together from cheek to pedes to drive the slide of his spike in and out of the intense, slick, tight heat he'd quickly learned to enjoy. The hardline still giving feedback only made it that much more enjoyable.

Friction built between their frames, static crackling that jumped from one to the other and danced along Jazz's fingers where he was gripping the fabric of the berth. Mouth open, fans running at top speed, he pushed and pulled along with Prowl. Then he reached up and back, fumbling for Prowl's arm, and followed down to his wrist before bringing his hand in and under his abdomen, pressing it against his plating. It was incredibly hot right above where the protoform was being constructed, the plating thin from the stretching, vulnerable. 

Prowl shivered, his rhythm momentarily thrown off as he spread his fingers and took in the heat, the vulnerability, the trust involved in this act. It was still alien, strange and a bit uncomfortable to contemplate, but this was _Jazz_ , and such an act of trust from Jazz was to be treasured. With a bit of concentration Prowl settled into rhythm again, his fingers still spread as he rubbed the plating gently, trying to absorb as much of Jazz's adoration of the form being constructed as he could. Prowl _wanted_ to love this new being that was part him and part Jazz. He wanted, desperately, to find the beauty and joy in Jazz's reformed shape. It was coming, if far too slowly.

With a startled roar Prowl's thoughts were cut short with a surge of lightning through his frame and a burst of artificial transfluid from his spike.

It caught even Jazz by surprise, the smaller mech seizing up as the conductive liquid flooded him, slamming charge into every sensor in his valve, making him scream as it pushed him into a hard, immediate overload. He shook and grabbed at the berth as his other fingers curled around the hand pressed to his abdomen, holding tight. "Don't stop," he moaned as soon as he could speak again, hips rocking back, his valve squeezing and cycling.

Prowl complied before he was even fully cognizant again, his frame protocols locked into the cycle so he didn't have to think to pleasure his mate. Scalding hot air pumped from wide open vents and loose armor, only adding to the heat the pair felt and the pleasure it created.

True to his word, Prowl moved until his frame couldn't move anymore, and when he slumped forward, Jazz squirmed out from under him and pushed him back, climbing on top. "Thank you," he gasped, as he braced himself against Prowl's chest and bucked over his spike, lost in bliss. His mate was long out of fluid, dazed and able to do little more than lay there with the blindfold blocking his view. 

True to his word in this as well, Prowl's spike remained fully pressurized, even though it was past the point of giving Prowl any more pleasure until his systems fully reset and he had the energy to overload again.

The last thing Jazz did before falling offline, slumped over his mate, was remember to tug off the blindfold.


	17. Slingshot

Optimus Prime was oftentimes glad for his battlemask--it kept his smile hidden. And the irritable, caged-up carrier was, at the current moment, very amusing to watch while he paced restlessly, snarling at anything that seemed to be less bored than he was. Which was everything.

"That wall _does_ look like it's having a wonderful time," he remarked.

Jazz jumped a little, then frowned at him. "The wall is almost sure to be having a better time than I am," he said, regarding the Prime. "Here on botsitting duty or because you want to be?"

"Actually yes. I happen to like you," Optimus said the truth easily.

"Hmm." Jazz cocked his head, then grinned. "Do you like me enough to let me get out of Metroplex for a while? Prowler doesn't hafta know..."

"No, I do not like you enough to risk crossing Ratchet," Optimus chuckled. "You can sweet talk Prowl into forgiving me. We can walk around Metroplex, however."

Jazz's head tilted in the way that always indicated an optic roll but he nodded in agreement, glad for _anything_ that wasn't the inside of the small set of rooms. 

"Even if Prime had said yes, I would have locked the doors on you," Metroplex informed him. 

"Gotten outta you before," Jazz said. 

"Yes but this time you can't transform, nor are you very mobile." 

"Look who's talking," Jazz said with a grin as he walked ahead of Prime, taking slow, easy steps as they headed into the hallway. It was nothing he hadn't seen millions of times already, but he was grateful for it nonetheless. It gave at least a small impression of openness, to have a line of sight that he had to actually shift his focus to see the end of clearly.

"Does a garden, overlook or recreation center appeal more?" Optimus asked.

"Overlook," Jazz decided easily, and they turned that way, Prime having to actually wait in between his steps so as not to overtake his smaller companion. They walked in silence for a few kliks, before Jazz looked up at him. "Do you think I'm here because of Prowl, or because you lost the Allspark?"

"A combination, I expect. As you have learned, there are not many here who would bond with a mecha such as yourself. Fewer still that would continue and plan to continue with you knowing it will result in this again," he motioned at Jazz's frame. "You were no doubt chosen because of Prowl and the loss of Jazz. We were chosen because without a mecha of your type, we will eventually be no more."

Jazz nodded. "But no official word straight from Primus?" he teased.

"Nothing so clear," Optimus chuckled agreeably. "I know that the Matrix was pleased when you arrived, pleased when you bonded with Prowl and is pleased that you are carrying. Besides being stuck inside so much, are you enjoying being a carrier?"

"Yes," Jazz purred immediately, though after he'd thought about it for a few more steps, teeked less excited. "And no. It's ... mm, carriers were _worshiped_ , y'know? Even in the gutters, other mecha would give up some of their energon to make sure they had enough for the protoform. Even across enemy lines," he said with a fond smile. "There were some scandals there, let me tell you."

"And here even your bonded, the sire, is having trouble not being disturbed by it," Optimus nodded in partial understanding. "How are things going with Prowl about that? Has he settled any?"

Jazz hummed in pleasant memory as they reached an overlook with several lounges, though he remained standing. "Hardline and blindfolding is getting us there," he said. "He enjoys touching me again."

Optimus's field flared with pleasure at the news. "He loves you a great deal. I admit I worried about your relations when I learned what this would do to your frame. Do you know how close it is to emerging?"

"No," Jazz sighed. "I hope it's soon. It _feels_ like it should be soon. The less time it's in me the less time there will be for complication." He shuddered. "The idea of something going wrong, and no one knows how to fix--nn--" He reached out very suddenly, grabbing for leverage against the window, leaning heavily. "Speaking of," he half gasped, half laughed. 

"I have alerted Ratchet and notified him of your position," Metroplex said immediately.

::Prime, get his aft to Medbay. I'll meet you on the way.:: Ratchet's growl, harmonics laced with stress that Optimus had rarely heard in peacetime, echoed in the big mech's comm.

"Thank you, Metroplex. Relax," Optimus instructed as he scooped up the much smaller mech and pinged Prowl. ::I believe the separation has begun. We are headed for medbay.::

::I will meet you there,:: Prowl responded evenly, but even his harmonics spoke of anxiety. Across the bond Jazz felt a pulse of support, love and reassurance, and he sent the same emotions immediately back to his bonded.

He'd felt a _stretch_ inside his frame, and what could have been a kick, or a punch, he wasn't sure, but there was suddenly a very teekable field there and it was _impatient_. 

They met Ratchet just a few kliks later and the ambulance alt spun around to race after Prime as they made their very fast way to medbay. Jazz held onto Prime's arm, thrilled by the _speed_ that he hadn't felt since the protoform had started to develop. He was aware of heads peeking out, drawn by the commotion, and amused himself by imagining the chattering gossip that was soon going to be taking place all over the city. 

They reached medbay and he was in a berth very quickly. Then Prowl was there, grasping his hand. Prowl's field flush with the exhilaration of his rush here, excitement that the sparkling would soon be out and independent from Jazz, a conglomeration of fears that boiled down to not knowing what to do and the controlled panic that resulted from _no one_ knowing what to do.

"It wants to come out," he murmured, amazed to suddenly teek a second conscious field inside his mate.

"Yeah," Jazz said with a laugh, relieved that he wasn't the only one who could feel it. He brought Prowl's hand up to his face and nuzzled, watching all the notices on his HUD scrolling by at rapid-fire pace. He had no idea what was going to happen next, but there was movement, thousands of pieces beginning to shift in preparation. 

Next to him was Ratchet, hovering and looking comically helpless, holding a bizarre instrument in one hand that caught Jazz's full attention as soon as he saw it. "What is _that_ for?" he demanded. 

Ratchet started, looked at the strange tong-like tool, and then quickly hid it behind his back, glaring at Jazz. "What? Nothing. Mind your own business," he huffed.

"Ratchet," Prowl suddenly growled in full protector mode. "What is the tool for?"

Out of the way, Prime also perked up, all too aware that the tempers and coding in this room could explode quite spectacularly if not carefully managed. As much as he wanted to calm the nervous couple, the medic's reaction had him concerned.

"It's--well it's--" Ratchet said, floundering for explanation in a way none of them had ever seen him do. "It was Wheeljack's idea, in case it gets stuck or something!"

Jazz stared at him, a touch horrified. "If it gets stuck your best option is _that_ thing?"

"Well _I_ don't know!" the medic groused, and he was definitely sulking. "If it doesn't just, pop out..." 

Comprehension flashed across Prowl's field a nanoklik later and he relaxed, much to Prime's relief. "Jazz," he caressed his mate's cheek. "What components are moving? What way will it come out, by your best guess right now."

Jazz gave a frustrated huff and tried to focus on the scrolling notices while feeling everything moving in his frame in a deeply unsettling way. "Movement's above it," he finally said, figuring out the pattern. "Nothing in the pelvis except unlocking plating right--" He groaned as something unlocked that he hadn't even realized _had_ a lock, and definitely felt like it wasn't _supposed_ to unlock. "Yeah. Here," he moved his hand in a circle over the area, above his spike cover, then higher. "But mostly here." 

"Oh thank Primus," Ratchet said, sagging a little in relief. "I was worried." 

"What could _you_ have to be worried about?" Jazz asked, glaring at him. 

"We had to go on the closest analog we could work out," he grumbled as the tool quietly disappeared when First Aid moved by. "Which ran towards the human method. It'd come out through your valve, which we agreed did not seem designed to stretch that much."

Prowl twitched, his tanks roiling slightly. "Can we all agree it is a _very good thing_ it won't come out that way?"

"Oh," Jazz said, and then gave a slightly manic giggle. "Yeah, yeah we can all agree on that. You'd never frag me again."

"I may have required the memory scrubbed from my banks," Prowl muttered, highly displeased at the idea of that or being freaked out by his mate's frame again.

Finally relaxed, and much more at ease now that First Aid had arrived, Jazz settled in to wait and see what his frame decided to do next. 

It felt like a very long, slow, complicated transformation sequence that involved rearranging his internal systems on a microscopic level. There was movement beneath the plating that he couldn't match up to his notices, and seemed to be from the sparkling. "Restless," he murmured with a smile, and then a wince when shifting wires squeezed and pinched uncomfortably. "Do you think it's supposed to take this long?" he asked Ratchet worriedly.

"No clue," the medic groused honestly. "Are any of your alerts going yellow, red or coming in as warnings of any kind?"

"Nah," Jazz shook his helm. "Tons of notices, but nothing unhappy."

"Then it should take this long," Prowl continued to caress Jazz's face, arm and hold his hand. "With as little as anyone knows, we must trust your frame to do what it should and warn you if something is going wrong. It is the expert here, not any of us. Ratchet can only help if you break."

"Right," Jazz said, nuzzling back and trying to at least _enjoy_ the experience. 

It took almost another joor before anything visible happened. Outer abdominal plating began to shift and fold, moving away from the center. Jazz's head shot up. "That's it," he said. "That's it, the final sequence, I can tell. Everything else is moved." 

Ratchet and First Aid both came forward with scanners as Prime looked over their shoulders, optics bright and interested. Despite how stable and outwardly unmoved Prowl was, Jazz could feel and teek how intense this was for the steady mech. Prowl was still occasionally grappling with the fact that he had _created life_ and now he was watching it emerge.

A lubricant coated hand, smaller than a biped symbiot's but similarly formed, reached out of Jazz's exposed abdominal cavity like an alien. All around there were reactions that mixed fascination, welcome, relief and distress.

"Are all the connections separated?" Ratchet asked carefully, his hand frozen half outstretched.

But Jazz didn't answer, _couldn't_ answer as he stared, before reaching down and carefully taking the hand between two fingers, gentle calm. "Yes," he finally murmured, smiling, as the hand wrapped around a single finger and used it to try to pull itself up, struggling with the act.

The medic's larger hands got involved, helping the slimy, squirming being free of its carrier's frame. "Hello, little one."

Bright, sharp blue optics snapped to focus on the _not-creator_. "Slingshot," he insisted with several more chirped comments.

"Such a strong spark for so small a frame," Optimus said in wonder. "How much larger will he grow?"

"Probably my size," Jazz said, holding his hands out a little pleadingly. The sparkling's head snapped around to the movement and he released a high pitched chirr, lunging for his carrier, diving right off of Ratchet's hands in the process.

Jazz reached for it in a flare of panic, but Prowl was there first. The gooey being landed in his hands and was almost immediately transferred to Jazz's chest where he could coral his offspring while his frame put itself back together. A white hand appeared, placing several soft cloths between the sparkling and Jazz's open abdominal region and Prowl was immediately claiming them to clean his hands and with painfully nervous care, wiping off Slingshot.

The sparkling chirred and nuzzled against the cloth, unaware of how extremely uncomfortable he was making his sire by trying to cuddle with his fingers before being completely cleaned off. "Hold still," Jazz instructed, staring in wonder as the sparkling obeyed. "How do you understand?" he asked. 

Slingshot cycled his optics up at Jazz, cocking his head. 

Jazz looked to Ratchet, then Prime, then Prowl, getting looks that were just as lost as he felt in return from all of them. 

"If I may," First Aid said, stepping forward with a smile, and easily took over the rest of the cleaning so Prowl could pull his hands away and tend to them. "It makes sense that he has inherited his coding from Jazz, who has integrated this language into his primary language center. Copies of it must have been made and passed on. We can look closer when he's older and check the individual lines to see how they match up."

Jazz hummed when the medic finally released the small, dry protoform back onto his chest. "Hello," he murmured, brushing his thumb over Slingshot's back. "Slingshot."

The tiny being trilled and cooed, pressing into the touch with eager happiness. It trilled louder and began to purr when Prowl's hand and field joined the stroking. 

"Do you know who I am?" Prowl asked with awed, possessive sub-harmonics in his voice.

"Sire," Slingshot chirped back before the energy suddenly seemed to drain from him and he settled on Jazz's chest. His spark pulsed strongly, his field stable, simply worn out.

"Yes, Slingshot. I am your sire," Prowl murmured. "He's so ... aware."

"How soon until I can go back to our quarters?" Jazz asked, looking to Ratchet. 

The medic scowled at him. "Your entire frame just _split apart_ and you want me to let you out of here any time soon?" He started to explain just why that wasn't happening, before noticing the hard look that Prowl was giving him. "...As soon as you feel stable enough," he relented. 

"Good," Jazz murmured, leaning his head against Prowl's hip, moving only when First Aid pressed a cube of energon into his hand. When he was finished, both of his hands were curled protectively around the sparkling's frame alongside Prowl's, as they gazed in awe at their creation. "We _made_ that," he said wonderingly.

"Yes," Prowl's voice was soft and just as full of awe. "Now we must raise him and teach him to be a good citizen while medical and engineering figure out how to keep him alive long enough to need upgrades."

That got the attention of everyone in the room.

"The young of many races require special food, nutrients and care. If Jazz's or the sparkling's systems do not automatically prompt us to provide what the sparkling needs, we could easily deactivate him with energon that is too strong or too weak. He could deactivate from lack of supplements no one knows to give," Prowl's voice was low and grave. "We will all do our best, and learn so the next one has an easier time. We simply know too little to have any confidence that we will get enough correct for him to flourish."

Jazz took an unsteady intake as reality began to intrude on the coding high of a successful separation and getting to _touch_ his creation for the first time. They'd talked about this. They understood the chances and risks. He'd just gotten very good at not _thinking_ about it. 

"We will monitor his systems and progress ornly," First Aid promised softly, already taking new scans. "And do everything we can." 

"For quite some time, you will have multiple medic visits to your quarters," Ratchet added. "We have already worked them into our ornly schedules to make time for checking on him." 

"Thank you," Jazz said, suddenly exhausted, leaning against Prowl. 

"Rest," Prowl soothed, one hand covering the sparkling, the other on Jazz's helm, as carrier and sparkling both drifted into recharge and all conversations went to comms and a much more technical nature that medics, Prowl and Prime were able to handle.

* * *

"I get to go with you?" Slingshot jumped up and down on the berth as Jazz finished his evening prep. Though he'd been back to work for metacycles, pretty much as soon as he'd decided he trusted Metroplex with watching over and entertaining the lively being that had so far shown no signs of ill-health due to cluelessness, Slingshot was now just over a vorn old, in full armor that made him look like a very small native, and everyone had agreed that it was time to let him see a bit of their world.

Though Prowl wasn't in the room, Jazz could feel he was close and agitated in that pre-not-sure-a-battle's-coming way. A gentle pulse over the bond calmed him some, and was returned with love that helped him settle some of his own uneasiness.

"Yes," he told his creation with a smile that spoke nothing of everything that might go wrong with this plan. Of course, they weren't expecting anything to go wrong or they wouldn't do this, but there was always a chance that one of the thousand some inhabitants would decide that the threat of Prowl, Jazz, Mirage, Prime, and probably a few other SpecOps bots wasn't enough to stop them from trying to hurt the being he'd carried. "You get to be my helper today."

"Will Prowl be there too?" Slingshot asked with giddy excitement as he jumped down from the berth to scramble up to his carrier, ready to _leave_ and explore. So much like Jazz had been near the end of his carry that it made the older mech smile.

"Yes, he'll be there too," Jazz said, scooping the sparkling up into his arms and spinning him around. Slingshot shrieked delightedly, settling into quiet giggles when Jazz slowed and stopped, nuzzling him. "Now you remember what we talked about," he said, softer and serious now. "How mecha might look at you strangely, and some of them might even look not very nice."

Slingshot nodded, just as serious. "And if I don't feel good around someone, to get to the nearest friend. If someone hurts me, or looks angry and ready to hit like Prowl showed me, yell for help."

"Yes," Jazz trilled his praise and pride. "Someone will always be close enough to hear you, just make sure you never go anywhere without telling me or Prowl first. And," he tickled his creation's sides, "It doesn't matter what anyone says except friends. And if anyone says something mean to you, remember what they look like and tell a friend. Ready to go?"

"I'm ready," Slingshot got excited again, eager to go _out_ and see the world.

"Walk or ride?" Jazz asked as he palmed open the door. 

"Ride," Slingshot said, climbing up onto Jazz's shoulder and hanging on, optics bright as he looked forward to his first look outside Metroplex's hallways. As they passed one of the overlooks Slingshot tugged on his carrier's helm to make him stop so he could look out the window. He'd been here before a few times, but it was always exciting. "We're going there?" he asked, pointing out and down. 

"Right about there," Jazz said, angling more for the horizon. "Outside of Metroplex." 

" _Ohh_ ," Slingshot said, then looked up at the ceiling. "I thought you were everywhere." 

"No, little one," Metroplex rumbled fondly. "I am only some places. There is a very big world outside me." 

Slingshot quivered in excitement, taking in everything as they walked, and then when they drove, spent the time glued to the inside of one of his carrier's windows.

Jazz was paying just as much attention to their surroundings, but for very different reasons. Mecha slowed down as they passed by him, some crept a bit too close on their way by, but when Prowl joined them on the road, merging in behind, the creeping stopped immediately. 

"Prowl!" Slingshot said excitedly, jumping and pointing out the back. 

~Hello, love,~ Jazz greeted with an affectionate brush of his field.

~Love, _bonded_ ,~ Prowl greeted with the terms he knew still made Jazz's spark quiver with joy at their truth. ~Is he looking forward to tonight?~

~Very much,~ Jazz chuckled. ~He was climbing the walls.~

~And he is sure with the rules?~ Prowl couldn't help but ask, nervous as he was about tonight.

~He is,~ Jazz said. ~He remembers everything you showed him. I will be there, you will be there, Prime will be there. He has plenty of powerful friends that no one will cross. I'm more worried about what the staring might do to him.~

~He must get used to it, just as you did,~ Prowl sighed. ~Even though he will look and act like a native when he is mature, he will have extra systems.~

Jazz flickered agreement. ~He's heard us tell him he's different, I'm just worried for when he understands what that _means_.~ He looked inward at the sparkling that was chattering with nonstop excitement, pointing at everything and everyone he saw.

~I know,~ Prowl said, his tone regretful of the truth as they pulled up to the club. Prowl transformed first so he could be by Jazz's door when it opened and Slingshot bolted out into his sire's arms for a better vantage point.

Now that the sparkling was clearly visible, all pretense of not staring vanished and mecha in the road simply stopped and transformed right where they were. Slingshot clamored up to Prowl's shoulder, standing on it and holding his sire's helm to keep himself upright as he looked around. 

Jazz transformed and tilted his head back to look up at him, grinning. "Whatcha think?"

"So many people!" Slingshot squealed happily, staring right back at those staring at him. It earned him an approving rumble from his sire.

"You will get to see a lot of people," Jazz said as he headed inside the club. Prowl followed after, as Slingshot strained until the last possible moment to keep looking at the street. 

And then that rapt, eager attention was focused inside to the place where his carrier worked. "Lights!" he said, pointing to the glittering colorful bulbs that surrounded the room, inlaid in the walls. 

"So this is the bitlet, huh?" Blaster said, coming out from behind the counter. "Hello."

"Hello Blaster," Slingshot greeted him warmly, recognizing this face as one of the mecha he'd been taught was a friend. "I'm Slingshot."

"Yes I know," Blaster chuckled. "Hey, you like music? Got any favorite stuff? Got a bunch cued up if you wanna go look at the controls." 

"Really?" Slingshot perked up. Jazz reached up to take him and headed that way. 

Blaster looked to Prowl. "How's he doin' outside?"

"Still clueless that the looks are more than curious. He stares right back for now," Prowl answered quietly. "I have some hope that he will continue to do so when he realizes the truth that different is not well accepted here."

"Mm." Blaster rippled his armor in a shrug as they watched Slingshot pressing different buttons, leading to a wide variety of music being played in short clips. "I think with time we'll get there. Not the bitlet's fault where he came from." He chuckled, clapping Prowl on the shoulder. "Kinda freaky that you _made_ that thing, mech."

"You have no idea how freaky it was, Blaster," Prowl said calmly with a tiny quiver of how disturbing the entire event was for him even as the wash of adoration he felt for Slingshot overshadowed it. "I hope by the next one we are all better prepared for it."

"Sure we will be," Blaster grinned. "No runnin' off to play hide n' seek in some caves." He lifted his hand in a wave towards the front door as Spoiler came in. "My mech!" 

"Definitely," Prowl agreed, turning to nod to Spoiler in greeting. "No more mistaking a newspark for a spark parasite."

"'e won' make mucha DJ, will 'e," Spoiler remarked after a moment of listening, peering at the sparkling in the corner. The new voice caught Slingshot's immediate attention and the music stopped switching as he jumped down to run over to the newcomer, peering up at him. Spoiler stared back, unnerved.

"Hi Spoiler," Slingshot grinned at him and lifted his arms a bit. "I'm Slingshot."

"Yes, y' are," Spoiler agreed carefully, shifting cautiously around him. Jazz's engine began to rumble in the lowest of warning growls and Spoiler looked up quickly. "No--sorry, didn' mean t'--'s jus', 'e won' run under my pedes, will 'e?" 

Jazz stared, and then understood the reason for his employee's careful movements. Not fear _of_ the sparkling, but rather fear of harming him. "No, he knows to be careful when bigger mecha are close to him," he said, calm again as he walked forward, scooping his creation up anyway, pleased to see Spoiler relax immediately. "Wanna hold him?" 

"Er--think I need a bit longer," Spoiler said, but he did reach his hand out, palm up. Slingshot placed his tiny hand on one of the fingers, grinning delightedly.

"Exposure will make it easier," Prowl promised. "I expect he will want to be here far more than going to work with me."

"Prowl's work is _boring_. All sitting around not moving," Slingshot chirped. "People are more fun."

"You'll see _lots_ 'a them 'ere," Spoiler promised before heading into the back. 

Jazz tapped Slingshot's nose. "Come on, you can help me set up flavors. But you can't put _anything_ in your mouth, or Prowl is taking you right home." 

Slingshot looked at his carrier with huge optics. Jazz looked back sternly, and after a moment, the look was turned to Prowl.

"If I have to take you from here for misbehavior, it will be to go to my office so I can work," Prowl countered the threat with a far worse one. "If you wish to taste something, you will ask Jazz or myself first and comply with the decision."

"Okay," Slingshot sighed, hugged his carrier's neck, and was set on the counter to sit and watch as Jazz began sorting and mixing with an experienced hand.

* * *

"Hey all!" Slingshot called as he walked into medbay with a wave of his hand. He was five vorns into his adult frame and other than his creators' quarters and now his own, he knew this room better than probably anywhere else inside Metroplex. Being raised on a world where very little was known or really even understood about his mechanics and biology, every time something had ever been even the slightest bit unusual he'd been rushed straight here. 

As an adult, he made the trips on his own. At least 95% of them turned out to be for absolutely nothing, but the handful of very real scares he'd had in his lifetime had drilled in the lesson that problems needed to be caught early in order for the medics to have time to work out a solution. 

"Heya Slingshot!" Wheeljack greeted cheerfully. First Aid waved and Ratchet glanced up from his work before rolling his optics. 

"Not it," he said, looking at the other two. "Who wants 'im?"

First Aid shot a knowing look at Wheeljack, who grinned back at him with a flash of his helm-fins in thanks. 

"Hop up," Wheeljack patted a medberth as he walked up to it. "What's feeling off?"

"Recharging a lot and more snacks than usual. Seems like I'm as hungry as I was as a mechling," Slingshot said as he jumped up, but didn't lay down, settling instead with his legs swinging off the edge. "And I'm getting tired during the day faster than usual. I know it's not much, but," he shrugged. "Don't really want a repeat of the Beryllium Incident. So here I am."

"No, we definitely don't," Wheeljack said easily as he began the scans. "We thought you were fully mature, but it's hard to know when you're the first of your kind to grow up here. You might be going through another growth spurt."

"I already have more protoform mass than Jazz does," Slingshot said with a bit of a frown. "He doesn't think I'll get any more." 

"True, but we know that Jazz lacked regular fuel while he was developing," Wheeljack hummed. "It is not outside the realm of possibility that it stunted his growth more than we expected...."

::Ratchet.:: Wheeljack's tone stopped any snap at the interrupting ping and brought the senior medic over with just enough speed that Slingshot perked up. The youth first held still, then complied with an ever-more concerning series of scans and requests that culminated with him on his back with his chest plates parted.

"You can close up," Ratchet said evenly as he put the last scanner away. "How many have you spark merged with in the past decaorn or so?"

"Um," Slingshot said, now a little alarmed. "Dunno, like, eight?" He thought about it for another moment. "Maybe nine, or, twelve. ...I was really overcharged."

Ratchet facepalmed with a groan. "So you have _no_ clue who the sire might be. Do you have anyone you're even sorta serious with?"

" _Sire?_ " Slingshot yelped, bolting half upright before Wheeljack's hand on his shoulder caught him and kept him on his back. "What do you mean, _sire?!_ I can't--I'm not-- _what?_ " 

"It seems as though you are able to create outside of a bond," First Aid said calmly as he walked over to counter his colleagues' gruffer personalities for the anxious youth. 

"But..." Slingshot stared at him, then looked back to Ratchet. "No ... no one serious. I mean I guess there's Astro, did him a couple times but that's it. It's just fun. _Just_ for fun. Did you seriously just say _sire?_ "

"Yes," Ratchet's voice and field turned gentler. "You are supporting a newspark. If the process follows what happens with Jazz your frame will begin to change in two metacycles, become untransformable in six and the sparkling should emerge in seven and a half. Before you panic too much, there is a fund set up to supplement a carrier's income for the time you'll be off work. You're entitled to additional energon while you are carrying, since your frame is supporting two."

Slingshot made a quiet whimpering sound and he looked very dazed, staring at the ceiling. The grouped medics gave him the time he needed. "You're _sure_ it's not a rare parasite?" he asked after a few kliks with an imploring sort of grin.

"It is a new life, a sparkling," Ratchet said without doubt. "It can be terminated if you choose. So long as it's dependant on your systems for survival, it is your choice whether it continues to function. It _is_ a parasite until it emerges. Just one that will evolve into a mech if allowed to."

"Okay," Slingshot said, nodding and settling a little as Wheeljack shifted so the youth could rest against him and take comfort in his field. "Okay, good, okay." 

"Is that what you would like to do?" First Aid asked, his voice promising nothing but support and care for the choice the young adult decided to make. 

"Dunno," Slingshot said, his optics on the medics but aware of the engineer he was leaning against. "But it's good to know that I can do that." He looked at Ratchet. "How's that work with Prime's whole, no harming carriers or threatening newsparks thing?"

"As much as he hates it in this case, it is your frame and you have a right to control what is in it. That's the law too," Ratchet shrugged his shoulder armor a bit, noting Wheeljack's response but not yet commenting on it. "Before that happens, there will be some hard conversations about other options. You are under no obligation to raise it after it separates. There are half a dozen mecha who have volunteered to raise any sparkling that needs a creator. You'll have to speak with Prime, and I will insist on a full appointment with you so you understand the risks associated with all your options, particularly with keeping it. I recommend you speak with your creators as well, though I will not require it. You're not on your own with this any more than they were on their own with you or Charmer."

Slingshot nodded, then huffed out a sigh. "There goes my social life if I keep it," he grumbled.

"You'll only be out of shape for six metacycles. Not even that, really," Wheeljack pointed out. "I know it seems like a long time, but it's not. Small price for a new _life_ among us."

"Guess so," Slingshot said, then offered a half grin up at Wheeljack. "At least you won't think I'm repulsive."

"Not at all," the inventor's helm-fins flushed a warm pink. "I'll go with you when you talk to your creators, if you want."

"I'll be all right," Slingshot said as the grin widened. "I mean, what's the worst they could do?"

"Squeeze you to deactivation in their excitement," Wheeljack chuckled. "I'm sure they'll see this as good news. I know Prime will."

Slingshot drummed his fingers against the berth. "Yeah. More worried if I decide the other way," he said. "Prowl'd be okay. I'm not sure about Jazz." 

"Slingshot," First Aid stepped close and took the youth's hand. "You are his first creation. He will always love you. He may try to talk you out of deactivating it, but he will always love you."

"Yeah, this is Jazz. You're kin. He'll never turn on you," Wheeljack added.

"Yeah, I know," Slingshot said as he sat up, looking at the three medics that had really become like family to him throughout his life. "I just don't want that disappointed look. We'll see. Anything special I should do for now or just extra energon and recharge?" 

"Extra energon, extra recharge and come in at least once a decaorn for a checkup. The supplements won't begin until protoform construction starts." Ratchet nodded. "You have time to think out this choice. It's not one to rush. You'll be in the system as a carrier in the morning."

Slingshot groaned. "Can't you wait a few orns?" 

Ratchet gave him a stern look. "As your primary medical care officer, no. For _your_ health and well-being, you need extra energon, which you will not be able to get without being updated as such. And no, before you ask, high grade bought at a bar does not count. It would be unethical of me to keep you out of the system for any longer than that." 

"Yeah, yeah, all right," Slingshot said, hopping off the berth. He was taller than his carrier by about a head, but it still didn't bring him level with any of the medics, who were all taller than his sire. "Probably see you before a decaorn's out."

"I'm expecting it," Ratchet nodded.

"You know where to find me if you ever want to hide for a while," Wheeljack called after him.

"Just _'face_ him already," Ratchet growled at the inventor just before the medbay doors closed, making his helm fins flush a bright, startled yellow and he thought he saw Slingshot's step falter just before he disappeared from sight, but the doors didn't open again. 

Wheeljack sagged in relief, then glared at Ratchet. "You wantin' a wrench to the helm, mech?" 

"No, I want you to stop looking and _do_ something about it," Ratchet huffed. "Lust or love, it's not like he's likely to say no to your berth and you know it."

Wheeljack groaned as First Aid giggled quietly behind him. "Yeah but he's all young and wanting to explore and I'm really _not_ ," the inventor grumbled as he tried to get back to his work, but the distracted ripples of pink through his fins clearly showed how unfocused he was now. 

* * *

Slingshot sighed, steeled himself one more time, and chimed at his creators' quarters. He knew that inside, Metroplex would be announcing who it was, and in just a few more moments... 

The door opened and Charmer's excited shriek only beat the youngling wrapping around his leg by a few nanokliks. "Sling!" Charmer had just recently gotten a thorough set of upgrades to fit his growing protoform, and at 53 vorns, was growing so fast that Slingshot could hardly believe it. "Hey there," he greeted, reaching down to scoop the youngling into his arms. "Where're Jazz and Prowl?" 

"We're in here," Jazz called from the berthroom. Slingshot followed through, seeing them cuddled up together with a colorful datapad they'd apparently been reading to Charmer. 

"What brings you by?" Prowl asked smoothly.

"I can't just stop by to say hello?" Slingshot asked with what he hoped was a charming smile. 

His creators regarded him silently and he drooped under the combined weight of their knowing looks after less than a klik. "Can Metroplex watch Charmer in his room for a little bit?" he asked. 

"Of course," Jazz slid from the berth to collect their youngest, cooing and ticking him on the walk to the sparkling's room.

"How serious is this?" Prowl asked quietly before Jazz returned.

"It has the potential to be incredibly serious, or not at all," Slingshot said. "Well, probably still serious, but in a good way?"

"So what's up, kiddo?" Jazz's put a hand on his shoulder from behind, his field full of support and strength. "Sit with us and let's talk."

Slingshot nodded and climbed onto the berth. Jazz followed behind, curling back up with Prowl, but they each held a hand out for their creation. Slingshot took them both, cycled his vents, and blurted, "I'm carrying."

Both fields went utterly still for a terrible moment, then Jazz's burst with joy, prompting Prowl to shake off the shock.

"Who's the sire?" Jazz's eagerness made him lean forward and grab his creation in a tight hug.

"Um--" Slingshot hugged him back, relieved by at least that part of their reaction. "I really have no idea."

"Out of how many potential?" Prowl asked calmly. 

"...Twelve," Slingshot said. 

" _Twelve?_ " Jazz said, pulling back with a huge grin.

"Twelve," Slingshot nodded, wondering slightly at the grin and pride in his very monogamous carrier's field.

"Any of them worth courting as a co-creator?" Prowl asked.

"Oh, no, _Primus_ no," Slingshot said, horrified by the thought. "And anyway, I..." This was the hard part. "...I don't know if I'm keeping it yet," he finished quietly.

Jazz stilled in shock but it was Prowl who leaned forward. "Why not?"

The simple question, two words, was going to be the hardest Slingshot ever tried to answer, but his sire's field, so calm and centered, gave him hope that this wasn't about to start a fight.

He cycled his vents and leaned against that calmness. "For one I want to talk to Ratchet first before making any decisions. I know that my carry and Charmer's carry went okay but I _know_ how freaked out the medics all get about something going wrong, and that scares me. I already go in every time something creaks the wrong way, this would be so much worse. I don't know how to raise a sparkling and even though there are mecha who would take one in, I don't really like _that_ idea, either. And..." And the most important reason, to him, and the one that was going to sound the most shallow, "...I don't know if I can stand having everyone stare at me. I'm only _just_ starting to get taken seriously and really be treated like a _person_ , I don't want to lose that."

"We would raise it," Jazz said instantly, responding to the only aspect he could really counter. 

Prowl reached out and cupped his creation's face with a large hand. "We will support you in every way should you choose to finish this carry. If you choose not to keep this newspark, we will support you in that too." He didn't react to the sharp look his mate gave him. "This is a decision that will impact you the rest of your existence no matter what you choose." Prowl tipped Slingshot's face so their optics met. "You must now keep your spark to yourself unless you are prepared to kindle."

Slingshot's optics spiraled wide at that last statement, something he hadn't even begun to consider, at least not in finalities like that. "But I _like_ merging," he said, though not in argument. "I wasn't supposed to be able to carry without a bond!" 

"We didn't know if you would be able to or not," Jazz said quietly. "We hoped not." 

Slingshot fumed silently for a few moments before pulling his hands away and wrapping his arms around his abdomen. "I _hate_ this!"

Jazz, his carrier protocols still linked to Slingshot and still very active thanks to Charmer crawled to his adult creation and hugged him. It wasn't long before Prowl's arms were around them both.

"I am sorry," Prowl murmured, regret and pain flickering in his field despite the fact he'd had nothing to do with the current situation. "Existence is rarely fair."

Slingshot pressed his face against Jazz's neck and leaned against Prowl, allowing himself to finally feel all the shock, frustration, fear, and uncertainty that he'd been pushing down since he'd heard Ratchet say "sire." It was safe here with his creators, they loved him, they would always love him, even if they didn't agree with him. 

And he cried. For the first time in decades he cried while his creators held him and rubbed his armor, soothing as best as they could as he sobbed that it wasn't _fair._ And even though he knew they'd faced far worse in their lives, they didn't try to remind him of that. They just waited, and listened, until he was too exhausted to do anything except lean heavily against them. 

"Sorry," he whispered. "This must seem so stupid to you." 

"No, sweetspark," Jazz said, stroking his helm. "It doesn't. This is huge, this is already going to change your life forever no matter what you do."

"It is something we never prepared you for, never expected to happen," Prowl's regret was much more directed at himself now. "To choose whether another _life_ will continue or not is a reality-altering experience. Just because we learned how to cope with such choices long ago does not make them any less traumatic."

Slingshot shifted to hug his sire tightly. "You would raise it?" 

"Yes," his creators answered immediately and in unison. 

"And if I didn't keep it, you'd still..." 

"We love you no matter what," Jazz said firmly, his fingers under Slingshot's chin turning his face to meet his optics. "I won't lie to you, I will have a hard time if you choose not to keep it, but that wouldn't be _your_ fault, and you need to do what's best for you."

"You are our creation, Slingshot," Prowl stroked the youth's helm, caressing the stubby sensor horns that matched Jazz's original set. "We will always love you. You will always be part of this family. We will always be welcome in our home and we will always support you. We will also always be here to advise you. Never forget that. You have a strong family and we will help any way we can."

Slingshot nodded and x-vented slowly, feeling calmer and more settled down into his spark than he had all orn. "I have an appointment with Ratchet to talk about the risks in a few orns, he insisted. And he's getting me set up for extra rations starting in the morning, and I already talked to Prime and he's going to talk to my supervisor so he knows about my recharge needs and knows not to say anything about them. All that's left is to just think about it."

"We are always available if you want to talk," Prowl reminded him softly, earning a hum of agreement from Jazz. "This is your choice, but you are not alone."

Jazz nuzzled him, pride in his field. "You're already doing everything you should to take care of yourself and give yourself what you need. You're being responsible about your well-being." 

"Or at least Ratchet is," Slingshot said with a bit of a grin, nuzzling back. "Thank you. Can I stay and read with Charmer for a bit?" 

"Of course," Prowl rumbled, and after letting Metroplex know that the youngling could return, the doors unlocked and Charmer came running in, climbing up onto the berth with some help from his creators. They all settled in together and Slingshot enjoyed every moment.

* * *

Slingshot liked the way Wheeljack felt when they were cuddled together like this, especially after a tactile overload. He fit just perfectly in the inventor's arms and it gave him good access to the sensitive helm fins while leaving their chests flush for easy hardlining. And normally he was completely content to drift off into recharge from here, but lately, he'd been having nagging thought trains that always came back after they'd been deleted. 

Watching Jazz and Prowl raise the sparkling he'd carried was ... fine. Not hard, though he still had his moments of regret that he hadn't kept Rumor as his own, but he knew he hadn't been ready for a sparkling then. That had been almost forty vorns ago, when he was fresh in his adult upgrades and enjoying parties and overcharged 'facing. 

He still liked those things, of course, and he loved to drag Wheeljack out for a good orgy, but ... something was nagging. 

"'Jack?" 

"Mmm?" the inventor hummed as he reversed the shutdown process.

"I'd really like to merge with you," Slingshot said.

That got Wheeljack to boot in a hurry. "Serious?"

"Yeah," Slingshot said, rolling onto his back and propping himself up on his elbows. "I miss doing it, I like you, and I think I might even be kind of okay with the consequences."

"I'm honored," the inventor rolled to his side to face the still very young adult. "You'd be ... you're ready to raise a sparkling ... with me?"

Slingshot looked at him for a few moments silently and Wheeljack was just at the point of squirming and trying to take back the question when his lover lifted one shoulder in a shrug and grinned. "Yeah, think I am. How weird is that?"

"Not sure about weird, but I do think it's wonderful," Wheeljack rolled forward to press their frames, then forehelms together. "Been thinking about it long?"

"Only been thinking about merging since ... well, since the last time I merged," Slingshot said with a chuckle as he nuzzled the inventor. "But I've been watching Rumor and I kind of want to do it myself now. I've probably had it in background threads since he separated, actively, yeah, last couple metacycles."

"If ... when it takes ... what do you think about upgrading the penetrative interface systems so I can give something more than energy and doting on you?" Wheeljack purred.

"Those always seemed so weird," Slingshot said with an amused flicker of his armor, but he purred right back with interest in the idea.

"According to Prowl, once you get over the gooey creepiness involved, it's very enjoyable," Wheeljack shivered in anticipation as he trailed his fingers down Slingshot's chest seam. "It would make the carry easier as well."

"Because of ... um, supplements, and ... stuff," Slingshot said, distracted by the touch that was making his locks feel ready to pop open any moment. "You are being, um..." His helm fell back and he sank down. " _Mmm._ "

"Distracting?" Wheeljack chuckled and finished his roll to settle on top of Slingshot to put the attention of both hands on his lover's chest. "Enticing?"

"Uh huh," Slingshot managed as his hands slipped up to tease his fingers over chest vents and along loosened plating, getting at the wires underneath. " _Primus_ , 'Jack," he groaned, "You're gonna make my hood pop if you keep doing that."

"Isn't that what you want?" Wheeljack purred deeply in reply, his fingers ghosting along seams and giving just a touch of extra pressure over the locks.

Vents picked up, Slingshot's spark surged forward in his chest, remembering and _wanting_. " _Frag_ yes," he gasped, right as the locks popped open and his chest folded back. "I swear if you do not open up _right now_ ," he said with a demanding rev as his fingers sank into Wheeljack's chest.

The inventor simply laughed happily and unlocked his chest armor, allowing the much thicker protection to fold away in a more complex sequence than Slingshot had, or was even used to witnessing. The soft blue light of their sparks shone off armor, and Wheeljack stilled, looking at the glittering, pulsing orb so close to his own.

It even made Slingshot pause, as desperate as he was for this, looking at Wheeljack with bright optics. "...Been a while?"

"A very long while," Wheeljack murmured, shifting to put his weight on one arm so his other could reach between them and gently caress the sensitive crystal casing.

Slingshot moaned and his optics flickered every time Wheeljack's fingers moved. "Kinda figured you never woulda had trouble getting spark whenever you wanted."

Wheeljack smiled a bit shyly before dipping one finger into the spark's corona. "I'm not as exclusive as your creators, but I'm not that partial to 'facing if I don't care about the other mech. Not many catch my attention that way."

"Oh-- _ohhh,_ " Slingshot held onto Wheeljack tightly until he could think again. "I must've seemed so frivolous to you," he said quietly.

"Just young," Wheeljack said easily, relaxed and pleased with his teasing as he swirled his finger deeper into the pulsing spark under him. "You're doing exactly what a mech you age should be doing, enjoying life."

Slingshot hummed deeply, optics flickering up and refocusing on Wheeljack's face. "I'd be enjoying life a lot more if you'd stop teasing and get down here," he purred, arching his frame invitingly as his spark teased and tickled against Wheeljack's fingers. It earned a shiver from the larger mech and a withdraw of the teasing fingers as Wheeljack lowered his frame, causing their coronas to caress.

It pulled moans from both of them as they pressed together, the lights sinking into each other, flickering and crackling with charge and little spasms through the tendrils that were tying together. 

~ _Good,_ ~ Slingshot moaned, from the center of his spark, and there was surprise along with it.

~Very good,~ Wheeljack agreed, pressing at the surprise.

~Never done this with someone I really _liked_ like this,~ Slingshot said with a nervous-excited _thrill_. Wheeljack saw a jumble of memories of having fun, being overcharged, messing around and quick spark-tumbles with mecha he trusted not to physically hurt him but little else. Fun and fast overloads. ~Feels _really_ good with someone you like.~

Wheeljack smiled warmly, physically and through his spark as he pressed the merge a bit deeper. ~Yes, it is much better. That is the reason many couples don't fool around much. Once you know how good it can be, just any tumble isn't good enough anymore.~

~I can get that,~ Slingshot purred as his frame began to shiver from it. ~ _So_ bright.~ His spark pulsed and rippled along Wheeljack's, eager and lustful, _ready_ in so many ways. It was responded to eagerly, the warmth and desire as Wheeljack began to gasp, pressing their forehelms together. Their sparks did all the movement their frames couldn't, locked into place to keep the sparks safe.

~So _good_ ,~ Wheeljack's spark thrust deep into Slingshot's before retreating, giving the young, bright spark a taste of a full merge.

It got him a startled trill before Slingshot thrust back, copying the motion, and heat started flooding through their frames. They went back and forth, pushing and pulling as the light danced around, casting shadows with every hard pulse. 

Slingshot demanded _faster_ and _harder_ and they were panting from the static charge that kept growing and growing, trapped in their frames and needing just that much _more_ to break away. 

Their very centers collided in a final, rapid _hit_ that pushed them over the edge together, coronas spasming as they came to exist in that moment in the same space, masses mingling and energy crackling until the keening cut off with Slingshot offline and Wheeljack only barely conscious. Their frames ran on auto, each doing what was needed for their sparks to return safely to their respective chambers and frames.

Right before slipping into recharge, Wheeljack managed to get his optics online to look at his young lover as they curled up together, indulged in imagining their future, and then curled around him and slipped offline.

**Author's Note:**

> Fandom: Transformers Bayverse/Transformers G1  
> Author: gatekat, Vaevade on LJ  
> Pairings: Jazz/Prowl  
> Rating: NC-17  
> Codes: AU, Crossover, Sticky, Rape, Prostitution, PnP, Spark  
> Summary: The universe likes balance. Sometimes that means taking from one timeline and placing that into another. It doesn't ask, not that Jazz would have objected at another shot at having Prowl again even if he'd know what it would take beforehand.
> 
> Disclaimer: The authors are only playing with their own twisted muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the inspirations page <http://www.gatekat-fics.livejournal.com/290.html>. We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read. 
> 
> Spark Colors:  
> Jazz: medium blue  
> Prowl: ice blue
> 
> nanoklik = 1/8 second;  
> klik = 496 nanokliks/62 seconds;  
> breem = 8 kliks/8.27 minutes;  
> groon = 9 breem/1.24 hours;  
> joor = 6 groon/7.44 hours;  
> orn = 42 joor/13.02 days;  
> decaorn = 32 orns/1.14 years;  
> metacycle = 8 decaorn/9.22 years;  
> vorn = 9 metacycles/72 decaorn/83 years;  
> ::text:: comm chatter  
> ~text~ hardline/bond chatter
> 
> Prompt 1: <http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/11776.html?thread=12774656#t12774656>  
> Bay/G1 mesh. Bay!Prowl/G1!Jazz
> 
> Jazz from G1 lost his beloved Prowl who got shot by Starscream on the shuttle, while Prowl from Bayverse lost his Jazz at the hands of Megatron. Both are grieving and inconsolable. What would happen if these two mechs met?
> 
> Let it be Primus' will or some other contraption that works as a time/space traveling machine, the two grieving mechs meet. And suddenly there is a chance to heal their broken sparks.
> 
> Please, let this be played out in Bay verse (meaning, Jazz is the one to get transported).
> 
> The main point is a lot of frame differences – Prowl's frame is spikier and more dangerous looking, Jazz's is smaller and boxy; difference in Cybertronian language – in Bay, they communicate with beeps and clicks, while in G1 they have their own unique Cybertronian language. They can't transfer data – it gets all jumbled and corrupted. Interfacing incompatibilities – you can explore everything. From field manipulation, plug'n'play to sticky, down to Jazz getting an entirely new frame – everything! Anon author can play with all :D
> 
> I’ve been dying to read a fic in where these two grieving bots are given a second chance, well, here it is :D There could be drama between these two and also a lot of fluff and rediscovering themselves – and for the first time they don't hurt.
> 
>  
> 
> Prompt 2: <http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/11776.html?thread=12778752#t12778752>  
> Jazz, who is unwillingly working as a pleasure bot, finds himself ditched on a street after a session with a client goes horribly wrong. He's badly damaged, probably malnourished and just about to give up when one of the passers-by actually stops to help him (most wouldn't touch him with a ten foot pole since he sports the markings of a prostitute). This bot (Prowl, of course) takes him home and helps him recover, and once Jazz realizes his savior isn't even doing it to secure himself a personal berth-warmer, he falls helm over pedes in love. He is, however, pretty sure that someone as nice as Prowl wouldn't want someone like him, not in that way. But of course (cliché, I did warn you) Prowl has also developed an attraction for Jazz, but doesn't want to take advantage and holds back.
> 
> No matter what happens in between I naturally want the two of them to end up together. Any sort of smexing goes. And if you'd rather turn the parts around and have Prowl as the victim and Jazz as the savior I'm fine with that too. I just want that 'rescued from the bottom of the pit and finding happiness again' thing.
> 
>  
> 
> Prompt 3: <http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/11776.html?thread=13792000#t13792000>  
> As long as there's a universe and at least 4 feet of height difference between them, I'm good. After that, you can drop in whatever other kinks you enjoy.


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